"Tutu, I told you, you can't come," For the hundredth time, I tried to convince Tutu, who was eager to tag along to the White Church.
"But I want to see the other white witches!" He yelled, still stubborn, and clearly upset. He was lying on the ground, blocking the way. He wouldn't let us pass unless we took him with us. When Luke tried to shove him away, he bit.
"Violet, love, I told you we should've thrown him back into the wilds," said Luke, taking advantage of the situation to get rid of Tutu. "Just look at him. I've never seen anything as useless as—" I nudged him.
Though I felt bad for turning him down, I couldn't help but fear that Tutu would blow our cover if he was with us. In the short time I've known him, I noticed that Tutu has the attention span of a puppy. Very short. Give him a ball and he will chase a fly.
Besides, who in their right mind would bring a tiger into a church?
