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She patted his head, her hand trembling slightly but sure of its destination. "It’s a lovely garden, sweetheart. But it’s better with a guide."
In his mind, he imagined sunlight. He imagined water. But the wind howled louder. The sprout began to wither. Panic rose in Milo's chest. This wasn't about reflexes; it was about will. He thought of Nana Rose. He thought of how she used to tend her hydrangeas, humming softly. yooful games |