"Ha."
It wasn't loud at first. Just a single breathy syllable that slipped from Isabella's mouth, like a leaf twitching before a full gust of wind.
But it was enough.
The air shifted. Heads turned. Even Glimora lifted her little snout.
Isabella's laugh built slowly, bubbling up from her chest like a spring bursting through rock. She took a step back, eyes wide with disbelief, staring at Garan like he had just offered her a piece of sky and expected her to wear it.
The day had barely even started. The sun was still stretching its limbs over the jagged cliffs in the distance, the wind hadn't even picked up speed yet, and yet—already—so many questionable things had happened. So many choices. So many absurdities. But this? Oh, this took the entire basket of sun-dried roots.
She looked him dead in the eyes now, and that's when it really hit her.
He was serious.
Not joking. Not playing.
Dead. Beastworld. Serious.
