Moonspear beating wings they whisper, a baby's breath

The pup is attentive, if somewhat quiet. He offers only a nod to Llewellyn's question; the warrior has no choice to continue with the barest amount of feedback. He is not sure if the boy is even paying much attention to his words, or only mesmerized by his strange accent (he has yet to find someone in these wilds that sound anything like himself or his family).

"You have to be still, lad," Llewellyn explains, his body stiffening in illustration. He holds this pose for a moment, silent, then lets it go with a smile. "My sister was better at it than me. She had patience--I had nothing but energy. She would keep still as a stone, waiting for the frog to come near enough. . .then she pounced, and the creature was hers. Seren brought home many more frogs than I ever did. Terrific frog hunter, that girl."

He feels a pang for Seren. She had married a man from the Iowerth line--Padric, he thought his name was, or perhaps Padrig? Their first litter of pups had been born this year; Lllewellyn had gone to visit them, a moon after their arrival. Shortly after, Ioan had launched his coup. Seren lived far enough away. . .had she and the babes managed to escape?

It is a longshot, but Llewellyn prays every night that she is safe. She and her husband, and their three beautiful children.

"The frogs still croak," he says, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat. He sounds much like a frog himself, punching each word through the haze of emotion. "Do you want to give it another try?"