Moonstone Quarry hurt me? you can’t — i’ve got mounds of thick skin

Companionably now, the snowdrop turned her head to regard the wolf who stood beside her in the light — and gasped. Tall and long-limbed, with a warrior’s heavily muscled physique, he was the spitting image of äiti — but his eyes were identical copies of her own. They did not match each other in height, and she was undeniably softer — more suitable for the bleachers than the boxing ring — but the sense of sameness lingered. She was cream and toffee where he was slate and gray, and her mask was spade-shaped while his whole head was black, but the colorpoint markings and white mittens were just like hers. She feared she could not breathe and merely stared at him inelegantly with her mouth gaping open like a fish.

She could already hear Ceallach accusing her of looking for siblings in every wolf she met, and immediately she put such silly notions aside. Roarke was her twin — and erroneously [it had been so long since she had seen her Uncle Dagfinn] she believed that he and Lotte had been identical. That twins were always identical. If this was truly Roarke, he would have looked like her — and she could not bear hanging her hopes on a copycat. Mumbling some excuse, she threaded past him and fled, and by the time she reached home again she would have done so in such a frenzied state that she would have run herself ragged with exhaustion. Nearly a full day later when she finally crashed into sleep, she would remember this whole night as a tormenting, vividly real dream.