Ravensblood Forest look how long this love can hold its breath

“Little warrior — no need to cry,” Lotte whispered, her vocal cords automatically straining for a reassuring croon but falling sadly flat. Some days the littlest Ansbjørn worried she would never sing again. She tended to be a terrible patient, testing the limits of her body before it was ready to resume its former activities, but this was different. This was so close to death she saw the white wolf skull in her dreams, looming over her body while she did the only things she could do: breathe and lie still. “Arturo?” she asked, a soft huff of a laugh threatening a second coughing fit. She held her breath, speaking only when she was certain she could. “Yes, quite — a catch.” Lotte’s head began to swim — or was it just her eyes? — and she blinked muzzily up at Chusi. “At least I — did not have to — wait until spring — to come to — Teaghlaigh,” she quipped, her tail thumping cheerfully against the frost-dappled earth.

It touched the singed songbird’s heart to hear Chusi speak so frankly of matters of the heart, and a smile curved up her lips as she collected more snow upon her tongue and swallowed to soothe her throat. “Then your — äiskä I will be,” she vowed, savoring the girl’s nearness with a sigh that caused her bronchial tubes to spasm. She swallowed the cough down, her ribcage seeming to quiver as she caught her breath, and murmured somewhat discontentedly: “I am so — tired of being — bedridden.” Her voice was petulant. “I am happy — when you and — Arturo — are with me — but I am not — useful this way.”