Escaping The Crescent Pack

“YOU LOOK LIKE a colt who is about to hit puberty, Diana lass. Or should I say, Luna Diana?” The deadpan voice of Rakiz Lemoir made Diana roll her eyes.

Their footsteps were followed by the splashing of the ankle-deep stream they were trudging on. Aside from their trailing sound of footsteps, Rakiz Lemoir’s high-pitched voice came second. No amount of cricket or a lark’s sound could stop his pesky mouth from criticizing her. And he was doing it for hours already ever since they stepped out from the borders of the Crescent Pack.

Diana could not blame why Rakiz Lemoir was telling her this. Her hair was cut out as if some rabid rogue chewed her head off and spit it out. Her turtle-neck sleeves were yellowish in color but she could swear that they were supposed to be white. Beer stains and mud splashes littered her overly loose pants. A beaten maroon-colored scarf surrounded her head and her face while her eyes were the only visible part of her face