The Maze In Her Heart (Newt, Minho ::The Maze Runner.) ✔

CHAPTER NINE: Keepers and Flower Crowns.

There's not a lot of Keepers.

There's the keeper of the builders, Gally, the keeper of the cooks, Frypan, Keeper of the Runners, Minho.

But a few were on unfamiliar terms, like keeper of slicers, the butchers of the Glade, Winston, and the keeper of track hoes, the farmers, Zart.

I didn't meet the Medjacks; they were burying Alby. I tried asking Newt but he just shook his head, a faraway glace in his eyes.

Newt must've known Alby for ages. He was a touchy subject around the Glade.

Sloppers don't really have a keeper as of now, because all the Sloppers just kinda do their own thing. For one scary moment, I thought Newt might make me a Slopper if I'm bad, but I shook it off.

After a bit of walking about an introducing myself, Newt led me to the farms, where I took a seat near the clumsily built barn. I let the wind dry my hair, and look over at the fenced off areas. A few cows sat there, flicking their tails and chewing cud. There were only three- which made me wonder how much of a pain those cows were to get out of the box. I looked over my shoulder, watching Newt talk to Zart. They seem to have a casual conversation, and I hear them laughing every now and then.

They could be laughing over klunk, for all I care. I still haven't gotten used to Glang, Glade slang. But I'm trying since Minnie has shown her share of Glang.

Minnie. I still can't help worrying that she won't be back before sunrise. I can't place myself in her shoes, being in the maze. It sounded terrifying, like something parents told their children to get them to stay in their bed at night. The amount of bravery it took for her to walk- no- run right in, made me wonder if I had that too. 

Was the Glade for chumps? 

I shook my head, looking at Newt. He was laughing again, slapping his thigh. No, the Glade wasn't for chumps. If Newt wasn't a runner, then I must be doing something right staying here.

The glade was peaceful, a working community where everyone seemed to stick to their parts to let everyone thrive. The homestead had a steady flow of Gladers milling in and out, some carrying crops into the Homestead. Other Gladers were working at the farms, digging and chopping at the ground and nearby foliage. Others were simply goofing about.

A few boys chased each other across the Glade and I watched them with a fascinated smile. One of them tripped halfway across, and his friends began dying in laughter, clutching their sides. Their Keeper, by the looks of it, walked over and pointed to their stations, then threw his hands in the air. They all scrambled back.

I watched them all head back, but I felt something against my leg. I gasped, loudly and quickly, lifting up my leg.

It's probably one of those metal things you saw at first! I reached over to swat away at it, but stopped as soon as I saw the soft muzzle of a dog. 

A black lab, he's a cutie, with fluffy ears and striking blue eyes. He raises his paw and sets it on my knee, leaving a muddy paw print.

"No boy!" I say, removing his paw. "These are Newt's pants!" I set a hand on the dog's warm head. It had that warmness a dog always seem to have. Newt, at the sound of his name, turned and walked over, Zart trailing close behind.

"Hah! You can bloody have 'em now." Newt grumbles. 

Zart looks delighted. "This is Bark, the dog of the Glade. He usually helps The Slicers, but today he must be taking a break."

I look down at the dog and hold his head in my hands, speaking to it in a high-pitched voice. "Who's a good boy? You are, you are!" then he barks, a deep throaty bark.