When I walked along the narrow paths bordered by low wooden fences in the wide barren landscape, I felt like I was going to miss this mustard garden and nemophila here. In spring, this place would be a sea of blooming yellow flowers and a clear blue sky without any single clouds in it. That would really happen if we could at least settle this matter faster; the terror from the half-blood killer.
It seemed that Azalea didn't care about this. I didn't know what the social class was like here, but I knew a bit that we—half-bloods—was slightly lower than the pure blood. It was my assumption, that just because my father didn't have magical skills at all, he was taken over from his position as the heir of my grandmother's sovereignty. It means that no matter what social strata you are from, with no magical power, you will be exiled here. Perhaps, that was also the reason why that woman didn't really care for this issue, or she might have other reasons I didn't know about.
