The Sentinels When you come and break my heart, free my blood.

“If he said goodbye,” Lotte said a little bitterly, keeping to the beloved language of the Enok Tundra, “he did not say it to me.” It was easier to be angry with the Bear than to be afraid for him, so she kept her anger tightly gripped in the clench of her back molars and the glitter of her argent eyes. Dagfinn would understand — Dagfinn always understood. “I…loved a woman,” the wintry-eyed wolf said hesitantly, and Lotte’s moonbright eyes widened as she gently nosed at him. “Say on,” she urged him, though there was little playfulness in her warm, rich alto. She was serious for once in her short life, subdued by the look that had been silently exchanged between them, and she added: “When you are ready.”