Ver?
The first thing that came to mind was that certain country.
Veridia?
No way.
Nope. Not thinking about that. Now was not a good time. Not when the mountain was doing its best impression of a crumbling biscuit.
"Can you move?" I asked softly.
The girl did not answer. The boy stirred slightly, trying to shield her even though he looked like a sneeze could send him to meet his ancestors.
My heart twisted.
Damn it.
I crouched down and forced my voice to be gentle.
"I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to take you out."
The boy's silver-gold eyes focused on me.
I could see all kinds of emotion from them.
There was wariness, fear, and exhaustion. But there was something else different. A kind of stubborn dignity that did not suit his fragile, battered state.
He still tried to push the girl behind him.
Dear readers, I have a weakness.
No, it is not handsome men. In my honest of opinions, that does not qualify as a weakness. That is appreciation for art.
