Atlas stood on the cracked steps of what used to be the town hall and watched a hundred sheep argue about grass.
It had been three weeks since the Reset, and the Free Zone was still figuring out what "free" actually meant. The Amrit shards scattered everywhere responded to emotions now, especially group ones.
That explained why the sheep, who had been normal enough last month, were now holding town meetings.
"Baaaa. Baaaa-aa-aa," one ram declared from the top step.
Atlas rubbed his eyes. "Atlas, translate," he muttered to himself. His Mortal Insight had grown again. The raw possibility in everything let him catch the shape of what the sheep meant.
"They want exclusive rights to the eastern meadow," he said out loud. "And they're filing a formal complaint about the training dummies staring at them."
Elara leaned against the railing beside him, arms crossed, trying not to laugh. "This is your fault. You let them graze near the shard piles."
