The Flying Wind, Part 3
"I need more, though." He said. He raised his voice with each sentence. "I've worked these mines for years. You've given me many a warning. But we need more. More than just being warned away from the worst. We need a miracle."
Wim Rattlepot didn't love leaving Milo alone with his family, even though he double-checked the barred stable door, and the rat had never shown an inclination to burrow. Wim made a mental note to pave the stable floor just in case. The giant rats of Thimblecross were mostly cloud, with very little silver lining beyond their willingness to carry a cart or rider when heavily bribed. The only reason Wim didn't have a horse or mule was that the rats of Thimblecross would have eaten it if given half a chance.
Right now, Wim did not need a cart, so Milo stayed behind. Wim walked and jogged along the road to the mines as he turned over the conversation with Marrow in his head. He'd braced himself for her anger, for her yelling, but it was far worse than that. Marrow had different needs—needs he didn't understand. Despite their differences, however, she was an insightful woman. One thing he had understood: he was looking for a miracle.