The Sentinels I am very dark, but lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem

Dagfinn listened, enraptured as always by his sister's tales. She spoke of an old bard named Brontide, first, who was looking for a wolf he was sure that he'd met. The delicate Murhe Sala would be forever emblazoned in his memories, and Lotte's painted words were a true fit for the little woman. But he'd reveal that in his own time, during the telling of his own stories.

For now, Lotte went on to tell tales of a man called Marbas, and it was clear from the depth of affection in her voice that she'd found yet another innocent young man to inflict herself upon - not that he'd probably minded. They never minded. Alas, it was a sad tale, and ended in death and his poor sister's misery. Dag licked soothingly at her brow, but the next moment, she spoke of Arturo and Doe, and the flirty glint was back in her eyes. The dark male couldn't help but roll his eyes, but listened dutifully with the air of someone who had heard the same tale time and time again.

Distantly, Dagfinn wondered what it would be like to be in love.

"Be careful," he warned his boisterous twin, slipping back into his native tongue as well. "If you blink too sweetly at them, you'll have them falling at your paws."