Daisy Ginger turned pale after listening to George Stephens.
She looked up, glancing at the cave ceiling where sparse moonlight fell through. The shadows of branches cast down, swaying in the night wind, resembling vaguely writhing snakes.
Scared by her own vivid imagination, Daisy quickly shook off the thought, grabbed George's hand, and pulled him aside to check him from head to toe.
George felt awkward under her scrutiny, but he was afraid Daisy would scold him, so he stood still, letting her inspect him as she pleased.
Aside from some scrapes from falling, George had no signs of snake bites.
She breathed a sigh of relief but couldn't help lamenting. Truly, a newborn calf is not afraid of tigers; he even dared to play with snakes. She looked at the three-year-old child in front of her, exasperated, "Who taught you to play with such things?"
How could Robert Stephens allow him to play with something so dangerous?
George blinked: "No one taught me."
"Then you..."
