 |
Art by MOrtiz. IG: _miiart_ |
“Mal? Where are you? I need the goat’s milk for my bath!”
Pygmalion grit his teeth to keep bitter words from spilling out. He
took a deep breath and tried to keep the knife-like edge from his voice.
“Coming” he answered. He gave the goat’s teat a couple more painful
twists, drawing a reproachful look and a surprised bleat out of it. He took a
look at the pitiful amount of milk in his pail and gave a sigh. She was not
going to be happy.
“Maaaaal? The goat’s milk!” Her lilting voice, once so sweet to his
ears, wafted over to pummel him into action. He stood up and hurried inside the
house.
