Stavanger Bay Flower In The Wind

Phone post. Sorry for quality!

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“Two home?”

In truth, Szymon had not expected the child to answer him. His experience with cubs was limited to the following: a. Qilaq, who responded in her own way but rarely spoke; b. Larkspur, who had largely refused to speak for any prolonged length of time; and c. his first litter, just shy of their three week milestone. The small, saccharine voice that questioned him was answered first with an emphatic nod, but when Szymon recovered from his shock, “Yes,” he confirmed simply. Even if she did not end up a warrior, the borders of the bay were open to her in accordance with the witch queen and the salt king’s decree. He watched as the child investigated the heavy black stone, one infinitesimal paw prodding experimentally at it, and met her muddied blue gaze steadily at her question. It must be confessed that he didn’t understand what she wanted of him initially; only after she offered her own name did he catch her drift. Even then, he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what turn the conversation had taken. “Your name is Witchhazel?” he asked, slowly and carefully. “My name is Szymon.” He waited to see what she would do with the new information.

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