Northstar Vale you and me and the devil makes three

Lotte endured the child’s blistering condescension without batting an eyelash, the shrug of her athletic shoulders stating quite plainly, “Well, I’m hungry,” as she gnawed a hefty chunk from the frozen carcass. Turning to face the girl, she ground the tough meat between her back molars, thoroughly enjoying the subtle crunch of ice that accompanied every bite. “I am not afraid; I have no reason to hide,” she pointed out mildly, a playful smile tipping up the corners of her mouth, “and I would rather be alive and smelling of rotting fish than be dead and smelling of roses and mint.” Her coal-colored tail thumped the ground enthusiastically as she regarded the girl, the fire in her blood cooled to a faint simmer.

The singed songbird wondered briefly whether she had been so caustically outspoken as a child. It was a trait she instinctively wanted to encourage — because honesty was important in many circles — and mitigate — because Lotte, like Arturo, valued diplomacy. This girl, though, was not her child and therefore not her responsibility. “Are you far from home, pikku kipinä?” she asked gently instead.