Aradhon, draped in a glamour to hide his true nature, watched as Jordan knelt down to help Mrs. Waterson pull her weeds from the front flowerbed of her rundown hovel, the afternoon Florida sun already causing beads of sweat to sprout on the dark skin of Aradhon’s forehead. The old man had been assisting Mrs. Waterson since the battle at Feather Lakes had decimated her front yard. His labor along with the minuscule amount of landscaping she had been able to coax out of one of the neighborhood boys who needed money for a nickel bag of marijuana had seen small improvements to her yard. All that effort to make the exterior of a place look appealing while the interior of the residence decayed.