"What happened to Lara?"
Jethru strode in through the back door, his brow furrowed in concern. Sweat glistened on his wrinkled forehead, trickling down his temples, a testament to whatever arduous task had kept him occupied. His tunic, once pristine, was now smeared with dirt, especially along the hem, as if he had just come from the fields or a fight.
Lara and Alaric, seated on the wooden chairs, immediately stood to greet him. Their movements were synchronized as if they had a tacit understanding.
Before either could speak, the ever-chatty Reya piped up, her voice filled with worry.
"Grandpa, Miss has a large bruise on her arm—" She halted mid-sentence, catching the stern warning glance Lara shot her way.