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

“No,” Lotte agreed immediately, swiftly disowning the tune. It was not that she would have been ashamed to lay claim to such a fine digging song, but she and her family took great pride in the things they had created. To plagiarize was one of the lowest forms of insult, in Lotte’s lofty opinion. “A wolf named Gray from Silvertip Mountain taught it to me; he hails from a land of snow, as we do.”

She listened with rapt attention as Dagfinn spoke of Saena and Warbone, and a pack walled in by mountains. Her tail whipped eagerly behind her with such fervor that she had to adjust her fluffy butt for greater wagging capabilities, and her moonbright eyes sparkled gaily as she remarked: “it sounds far nicer than Arthendal. I shall have to visit your mountains someday.” Though she’d never lived on or beside one, Lotte loved mountains — the idea of climbing up to share stories and songs with the stars was infinitely appealing to her, as was the physical strain of pitting herself against gravity and stone. “A demon buck,” she suggested, wriggling her eyebrows appealingly as her imagination ran away with her, “driven mad by an ancient curse. When you hunted his female, you severed his last vestiges of sanity. He swore to hunt you always, you and your Saena, but — well, you laid him to rest and put the curse to sleep.”

Nestling close to her twin, “Dagfinn the Vanquisher,” mused Lotte in a deeply contented tone, humming a few preliminary bars. “Saena the — ” Quizzically she caught her tongue between her incisors. “Why does she remind you of mother?” she wondered, not feeling particularly qualified to sing of a female she had never met. If only she could meet the great she-wolf who had won Dagfinn’s fealty!