Rhydor's POV
We sat side by side on the damp grass near the riverbank, the steady rush of the water filling the warm afternoon air.
The little girl was busy eating a fresh loaf of warm bread I had quietly stolen from the pack house kitchen right before heading down the trail.
She was munching away without a single care in the world, tearing off large chunks with her small hands and stuffing them straight into her mouth as if she had not seen real food in days.
I leaned back against a smooth gray boulder, quietly watching her eat.
Over the past five days that we had been meeting at this spot, a single detail kept nagging at the back of my mind.
Every single day she showed up, she looked entirely covered in grime. Her clothes were permanently stained with dark earth, her hands were constantly coated in dry dirt, and her hair was a thick, tangled mess of mud and dried leaves.
"Do you not bathe in your house at all?" I asked, my voice flat and blunt.
