Sawtooth Spire sailing through the mist, into the abyss, if you knew, would you sail out to me?

Don't want his kisses, Wylla grumbled, splaying out on the grass a considerable distance from where Phaedra was busy corralling her worm friend. The sunlight speared straight through her retinas into her skull, manifesting in a dull ache between her temples. It was probably the worst wake up call she'd ever had, and she groaned imperceptibly.

Then went rigid when Phaedra mentioned eggs, with a giggle that suggested she knew all along that this would horrify her mother. Devil child! By now, Wylla ought to have learned that the more she reacted, the more interested her pups would be, but she was a pretty slow learner when it came to motherhood. Instead of coolly accepting this information with a vow to find and destroy the nest, Wylla spluttered.

Excuse me, what? Eggs?!