The Sentinels I'm a vegetarian and I ain't fucking scared of him

Lotte listened eagerly as Chusi rattled off a series of updates, amusement and pride limning the bard’s moonbright eyes. “Oidhre” meant little to the smoke-and-shadow rogue — but then again, so did her own title of “Labhandair”. She supposed it was simply the way of the Teekon Wilds wolves: to keep all wolves, subordinate and otherwise, numbered in a specific pecking order with special titles referring to flowers, pelagic land masses, and ships. Unnatural in the grand scheme of things, but generally easy to follow, remember, and adhere to. These thoughts were pushed aside as Lotte warmly praised, “Congratulations, pikkusisko,” for whatever “Oidhre” was, it appeared to be a point of pride for the ocher-eyed wolf. “So, Uncle Turo became your isä after all,” she playfully teased, recalling a conversation she’d had with a much younger Chusi. “Perhaps I am a seer of the future like the päivänvalo uneksija of my home,” she mused, speaking in jest.

The approach of two other wolves — packmates, from the smell of them, though Lotte had not met either of them face to face — did not trouble the soot-stockinged rogue. The first, a dark and prickly specimen, was cast in a series of gangly lines and angles and a sullen expression, and his name was made known to Lotte by the seraph who soon followed. “Ingram,” she had called him, her pale eyes similar to Lotte’s own but for the subtle tint of lavender and periwinkle. She was a study of winter-washed hues, a cloak of pale peach wine bisected by a wider line of rust-colored fur that ran down her spine and accented with swaths of delicate silver. “You are beautiful, talvikukinta,” she said without hesitation, bowing to the woman and her young, silver-spined friend. “My name is Lotte Ansbjørn. Ingram,” she demanded in the same breath, using the name Muses had dropped, typically impulsive and somewhat apathetic about the boy’s level of embarrassment, “hasn’t our Chusi become a beautiful young woman?” It was phrased as a question — one that a doting aunt or grandmother might employ when boasting about her niece or granddaughter — and although it was sure to embarrass both awkward teenagers, Lotte really didn’t care because the answer was obviously “yes!” paid little mind to their level of comfort.