Sleepy Fox Hollow shadows that lift off the bloom and the velvet

She studied the bulbous liver for a moment, then decided to leave it for a little while. It was never one of Wylla's favourite organs, nutrition aside. It resembled some kind of alien insect egg sac and smelled so sharply of old blood that it was often nauseating, even to a carnivore like herself. She would much rather eat a bladder than a liver, and there was almost nothing redeeming about bladders.

She was glad to hear that Phaedra was doing well, despite her own doubts that Mahler could be a sufficient father figure on his own. He had done such a splendidly horrid job of it when he wasn't alone that she couldn't imagine he was any better at it now. Phaedra was older, though, much less reliant on her parents. Maybe that was the difference. The girl went on, claiming she had taken a spill down the mountainside, causing Wylla's lips to pinch together disapprovingly.

I know you're fibbing, she revealed with something like a smile, but it is dangerous, right? She would never concede that wolves raised on mountains could be surefooted enough to find no danger in the treacherous slopes of Sawtooth, even if she — a wolf who was clearly not raised on mountains — had never hurt herself. If she could manage it, surely her mountain-faring offspring would not have issues.

Alas, Wylla was stubborn when it came to being right. By now, she realized that Sawtooth was no more dangerous than the softer-sloped Sunspire nearby, but she would never be the one to admit it!

Anyway, there was a nicer place close by. I don't know why we ever left, she grumbled, then swallowed her self-absorption to ask, has he been treating you well? Your father?