Millard
"Ignore him," whispered Guido the Monk in miniature in Millard's right ear. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. You're fine. There's no one here but us!"
Suddenly, Aunt October was grabbing onto him like a shoe sale on Black Friday. "Let go of me, you wench!" he shrieked. But then, she was enticing him with visions of dogs.
Millard imagined it despite himself. As many dogs as he wanted. They would all frolic through the fields together, just like Peacorn had described to him when he had been a child. Before the euthanizations and the starvations. There would be a herd of them, and they would love Millard most of all. They would skip through the tulips, chase the butterflies like dreams...
"I..." he mumbled, almost in a daze. "I guess I..."