Sea Lion Shores wow, sarcasm! that’s original!

By the time Sif arrived, Eirlys had melted into something resembling a vaguely wolf-shaped blob in shades of tiramisu. She rose at the first sign of company, but not with any real sense of urgency or trepidation, and when she moved away from the stick it was only because she wanted a better look at the other girl. Licking the drool from her chin and cheek, “Hey,” she said.

For a good while that was all she said, because what was she supposed to say?

The snowdrop was awkward, but she was a honey-and-molasses kind of awkward. She didn’t fidget and she didn’t panic. She just stood there looking and listening. All of Eirlys’ trauma was basically collateral damage, and she had no reason to believe she was under attack — but that didn’t mean she knew what she was doing by any stretch of the imagination. A ticklish, fluttery sensation ran through her, and although the corners of her mouth were buoyed up by its effervescence, her glacial eyes were glazed over with the lingering shock of being caught off-guard [not that she was ever on guard, not really, unless you counted her hypervigilance toward what she deemed her flaws]. “You mean, do I live near the ocean?” she asked, not giving the other girl any time to answer before she hurried on: “No. I — well, I used to live on that island to the north.”

And then my papa disappeared and everything else fell apa —

“I don’t live there anymore,” she added, her lilting brogue questioning as she took a breath [finally!] and said, “Do you live here?”