Torrent looked down. A shard of glass — someone's beer bottle — had sliced his foot. In the stale pond water, the cut festered.
The pond had been Torrent's kingdom for three hundred years. A grumpy old nixie with mossy hair and a voice like grinding stones, he liked the mud, the still water, and the silence. raus aus dem teich torrent
"Torrent—"
For the first time, Torrent felt fear. The old magic couldn't heal poison. Torrent looked down