stayed behind Dorothy, as though she was his protector. “Why haven’t you asked about Toto?” Dorothy asked, resting her back against the tree, and bringing the nut in between her lips. “Who?” He tossed a fishbone to the side. “Oh, the dog. I forgot about him.” Yet Lion still didn’t ask about him. Dorothy kept to herself that Toto was dead, because this Lion seemed as if he wouldn’t have cared. She took a bite of the nut, but it wasn’t hardness she felt. It was soft, juicy. A thin line ran down her chin. Dorothy jerked the nut from her mouth and tossed it to the ground. Her eyes widened and met
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