Stone Circle wolf talon

Sorry Foxglove is a brat!!

The woman was kind, in spite of Foxglove's rudeness. Sure! I'm Foxglove, by the way! She smiled brightly as she stepped forward to inspect the gifts. The pelts were beautiful — but Foxglove's enjoyment of them was short-lived.

All at once there were others: a pale boy, close to her own age but much larger, and a young man she'd never met. He seemed much older than Foxglove felt in this moment. She might have thought then of the brother Sven had mentioned, but instead her ears were flushing hot with shame to have been ignored so rudely by the pale-furred boy. Abruptly she felt rather out of place here. All of the others seemed familiar, greeting Eivor by name and existing easily alongside one another.

Foxglove was nothing but a stranger here. Her eyes grew as hot as her ears, and for a moment she only looked between the others. Then, before she could even think about it, she snatched one of the pelts — the grey one — and bolted off into Kvarsheim's territory. She'd gotten there first. It was hers.

She didn't care if the others thought she deserved it or not.