solitude, share a moment
“There is a problem.”
Or so Yang Rong says, three days later, when he barges into the dingy old cottage, stomping his soot-stained boots in a frenzy. His footprints are murky brown and unsightly against old lumber planks. Immediately after his entrance, a foul scent wafts through the vicinity and Noah, lying motionlessly on the floor, shifts away in disgust.
He’d made himself quite comfortable with the colonel’s jacket as a pillow and blanket, burrowing himself into it without consideration for the wrinkled fabric. While Noah looks to be having the time of his life snuggled up and all, Colonel Yang is in a state of utter neglect.