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

“Leave enough of him for me,” Lotte urged Dagfinn with a hearty laugh, her rich, warm alto dancing to silvery heights. In truth, she did not fear that her winter-eyed kaksonen would meet Arturo with aggression — unless the Ceannasach warranted it — but Lotte could not imagine Arturo ever earning a reprimand from the Laughter. She turned her head at her twin’s doting kiss, her muzzle parting in an attempt to capture the scruff of his cheek playfully between her fangs. She’d settle for an ear, though. Or a leg. Dagfinn was a wonderfully chewable companion. Through a mouthful of fur, “I used to,” she admitted. “I have not since meeting Arturo, but back home I was incorrigible.” She added with pride: “and the soturit wanted to make moon eyes right back!” She eyed her twin’s tail, her eyes brightening at the thought of capturing such a prize — but Dagfinn was fast when he wished to be. Testing him, she reached out a paw in a lackadaisical attempt to pin the appendage to the ground. “Kaunis suupaltti,” she entreated him sweetly, “I’ll trade a song for another story of your adventures.” Clearing her throat, she sang a few bars of Harmaa Talvi — Grayday’s song about dens and digging and snow and ice.