Dawn Treader Valley Fisher, Fisher where are you.

The stranger said something, though it took Frolic a moment to parse his words. When she did, her brow furrowed. Why was he speaking to her as if she hadn’t just admitted to cold-blooded murder? Perhaps he didn’t understand just what she’d done.

They were kind, the kindest wolves you’d ever meet, after my parents, she murmured. Merry took in an apprentice, Raveon. I tried to like her but I just didn’t. I couldn’t explain it, then… Frolic drew in a breath, let it out on a shuddering exhale. But when she became pregnant in early May, she claimed Otto was the father. I knew then that she was a horrible liar.

But there was so much more to the story. The yearling breathed in and out a few more times, her eyes staring vaguely off into the distance as if she was looking into the past, watching a replay of the events.

Otto denied if, of course, and Merry stood beside him. I did too. But the rest of the village was quick to turn on them. Raveon kept spreading awful lies about them and they just believed her. I don’t understand why they were so quick to turn on their own leaders but they did. Soon enough, they were talking about exiling or even killing Otto if he didn’t take responsibility for his bastards.

And still she hadn’t reached the climax of the story. Suddenly Frolic’s eyes focused and she looked at (not) Otto’s face, wondering if he sensed what came next.