Wheeling Gull Isle sour handover

Love is not a finite resource.
She thinks about it. Truly, he was right; she did not love her brothers nor her Mama more or less than Daddy, so why would he feel differently than her? Oh, she peeps, a little tilt to her head. It made sense. I understand. I think.
And surely, the weight of this conversation would be much heavier as she ages. When the day comes that Daddy is no longer here, she will think about this night where he held her in his strong arms and reaffirmed his love for her when she had doubted it. She will think of being seven weeks old with large paws to grow into; clueless and full of so much emotion that she did not know what to do with, and she will remember how her Daddy took it and kissed it gently and set it free.

But tonight, she is just a little girl.

She nestles closer to his chest, deciding that the perfect place for her nose is the curve of his armpit. I love you too, she mumbles. you're my favorite.
And then, a devilish, high-pitched, uniquely Dinah giggle, one that had not graced the earth in weeks. But promise not to tell Mama.