Margaret’s voice came out small at first. “Hey, Pretty Girl. Mornin’, sweet pea.” The same singsong phrases she’d heard her son say a hundred times.
Were. The past tense hung between them like a wire. Lena spent the next three hours observing. She watched Pele interact with the other llamas—normal social grooming, no signs of illness or pain. She checked the pasture for toxic plants, the water trough for cleanliness, the fence line for anything that might have startled the herd. Nothing. Margaret’s voice came out small at first
Walt scratched his gray stubble. “My son moved out. That’s about it. He used to help with the morning feed.” She watched Pele interact with the other llamas—normal
She didn’t just see a limping dog or a goat that wouldn’t eat. She saw the story behind the symptom. Targeting only Margaret.
“So she was afraid of me?” Margaret asked, disbelief in her voice.
“Margaret took over the morning feed.”
Lena nodded, cataloging the details. October. Seasonal trigger. Targeting only Margaret.
