Godfrey sat on the balcony. Silent. He stared at the street below. Everything around his parents' house had been consumed by greenery and flowers, vines climbing walls that had once been bare, blossoms spilling over balconies and rooftops until stone and brick became little more than a memory.
The hill where White rested had almost vanished beneath an ancient-looking forest. Carpet-soft grass blanketed the slopes while clouds of butterflies drifted lazily between shafts of sunlight.
He couldn't see the stag, but he felt its presence. Apparently, a canal was being built throughout Paradise. Once completed, the healing water would be able to flow through the entire city.
His mother had transformed this city into a true paradise. Here, wounds and even near-death accidents would become negligible. Such a city only existed in fantasies.
