But Anya knew it was hungry.
And the water, ever since, has tasted faintly of dill.
But the Factor kept pouring. The mill groaned—not with power, but with pain. The creek began to rise, not with clean water, but with a thick, dark flood that smelled of iron and old sorrow. The wheel tore from its axle and crashed through the wall. The Factor screamed as the millstone ground the air itself, and the water swept him into the root-choked darkness below.
But Anya knew it was hungry.
And the water, ever since, has tasted faintly of dill.
But the Factor kept pouring. The mill groaned—not with power, but with pain. The creek began to rise, not with clean water, but with a thick, dark flood that smelled of iron and old sorrow. The wheel tore from its axle and crashed through the wall. The Factor screamed as the millstone ground the air itself, and the water swept him into the root-choked darkness below.
