Bearclaw Valley You cannot live with a paw in each world.

Snowskip whirled around and he leaped agilely back, graceful as a little black cat. She had an awfully chipper disposition for a wolf whose tail had just been yanked. Aventus gleaned a lot of information from that one reaction.

She was an oddball here. She didn’t belong.

She asked his name. Once upon a time, when he was even younger and consumed by the anxious fear of his own father, Aventus couldn’t bring himself to speak a single word around any of his pack mates. But that anxiety was gone, seeming to coincide with the arrival of a certain two snivelling shits. Since then, he simply saw little need for speech. He modelled many of his behaviours after his mother, and she had no use for words. But sometimes, like now, it was useful.

Stickums, he told her, mimicking her huge grin and even throwing in a little disarming wag of his tail, thought there was something disingenuous about it all. One day, maybe he would be as good at acting as his sire. He simply had to hope that Snowskip was too optimistic or eager for friends to notice that he was faking it, experimenting with the best way to interact with her so he could study her.