Chapter 51: Verbal Sparring
The gravel grated beneath Alex’s boots with each step, a steady crunch that marked their slow departure from the lush serenity of the botanical garden.
Behind him, the air still carried the lingering scent of dew-drenched petals and sun-warmed earth, but ahead, it shifted, growing heavier, muskier.
The rich perfume of flowers gave way to the pungent tang of animals: fur, damp straw, and the underlying sharpness of manure.
It wasn’t unpleasant exactly, just jarring in contrast, like stepping from a painting into something real and raw.
Around them, the path narrowed between hedges now rougher and less manicured.
The polished beauty of the front gardens gave way to something more utilitarian, rows of wooden fences, storage sheds tucked beneath sloping roofs, and a long barn-like structure looming ahead with its doors flung wide.
Here, the Hold breathed with a different rhythm.
No longer still and ornamental, it pulsed with quiet, organic life: the low shuffle of hooves on packed dirt, the occasional rustle of wings, and distant bleats carried on the breeze.
Inolda’s pink curls bounced with lazy grace as she walked, catching the light in soft waves that danced with every step.
Her faded tunic hung loose over her lean frame, the fabric sun-bleached and stained from long days in the dirt, while her scuffed boots thudded confidently along the path.
She looked like someone who didn’t care how she looked, and somehow still pulled it off without trying.