Whitefish River I had long forgotten I belonged to you

Dragomir was drifting on the edges of consciousness when Isilmë settled down beside him and began to tell a tale. Her voice roused him from the film of sleep into wakefulness, but he kept his eyes closed. A pleasant shiver darted down between his shoulders at the soft rise and fall of his sister's voice. It occurred to him that she was the only one in his life who hadn't let him down in some way. Perhaps that was why her voice alone was able to coax true relaxation into his bones. For the first time since waking, he felt safe.

To him, Isilmë's story was wonderful. He thought it was better than anything he could come up with. Maybe it wasn't completely cohesive, but that's what made it good. Dragomir could tell she was thinking about it as she went along, practicing beside him something she might not have done elsewhere. His lips quirked upward as he imagined a wolf saving the day by simply being tripped over. He remembered Kazimir getting hurt during the moose hunt in Diaspora and wondered if the moose had tripped over her instead, she would have been a hero.

The end, Isilmë announced, and only then did the boy crack his eyes open. You're really good at telling stories, he mumbled, making an effort to tap his tail once on the ground. D'you have any more?