The Human Luna
I gather the utensils and drop them into the crate.
We have a steady rhythm going until everything is cleaned up.
"Jackson, slow down," I warn the boy out of habit. He never gets tired of running laps in the play area. Every once in a while, he will stop and try to egg one of the other kids on, but he's rarely successful, as even these children are tired of his antics.
"Ok, Luna," he responds with a defeated sigh, slowing his pace.
"Not the Luna," I whisper to myself, but of course, Tasia hears it. Stupid werewolf hearing.
Bab Populer