The Sentinels birds flying high

The distant thunder of heavy paws filled Lotte’s fine-tuned ears like the roll of kettledrums, and her bright eyes gleamed like pools of mercury as she bounced to her coal-colored paws with a joyous lash of her soot-swathed tail. “Ai, come on, then!” she urged her brother under her breath with a jovial grin, for who but Lærke Ansbjørn would be eager to meet someone who had exposed his chubby middle in an impromptu song? She had missed him — it had been difficult to watch him go on while she shared stories and time with the traveling bard — but she had always known they would find one another again. Hearing the other wolf’s songs — his voice was beautiful in its own way, more akin to the howl of the sea than the rollicking roar of a bear — was part of her duty. She would keep and pass on the tales she learned to her children someday — oh, she hoped they would be numerous! — and live a fuller life for knowing them.

“Oi, te loistava komea karhu!” she cried out as pebbles and moss flecked her paws. She flicked them fastidiously, like an irritated cat, with an affected, “tch!” — assuming a role as she often did to make her big brother laugh. “Rakkaat idiootti!” she huffed, her strong forelegs wrapping eagerly around him in turn as she bent her head to mutter into his fur, “Thorn kylkeeni!” Her argent eyes glimmered with a haze of happy tears that spilled over and became lost in the chocolate ruff around his neck; as he buried his face in the ash cowl of fur that billowed beneath her chin, she laved the crown of his skull with unabashed excitement. Beneath Lotte’s elaborate insults was affection, deep and enduring, and she settled on her haunches to cradle the bear’s massive head with a satisfied sigh. “Busy boy,” she crooned in her warm, rich alto, “what trouble are you wreaking upon this poor wood?”