Fairspell Meadow Whiplash

Qiao said there would be no swimming. The crone bid him to follow and the stormy yearling gave a last glance over his shoulder - peering at the southern stretch - before he turned and slunk after her. Dark ears swiveled forward to catch her illuminating comments on their appendages.

The boy had never bitten his tongue before.

The Gods could not give us wings so that we might fly over them?

Stormchaser clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tsking. Goldstone eyes glimmered with mischief. While he had never outright spoken against Qiao’s precious Gods, he carried a piece of doubt in his chest for them.