Barrow Fields And under mountains in the moon

caiaphas was not a wolf inexperienced with the angery exasperation of yearlings. one didn’t become the teekon’s most notorious pup-napper without being indoctrinated to adolescent vitriol.

and very little perplexed teens more than apathy. the sylph, had she had arms, would have spread them palm upwards in a gesture of indifference to mal’s assessment of her sight. hmm, no. just observant. you’re not mine, you’re not his. which means you don’t belong here. her gaze flickered as firefly offered food - a different approach than she might have taken, but he was their captain now.

she shrugged, watching as vercingetorix couldn’t resist one last barb before departure. good luck, kid. caiaphas said rather inattentively, her focus on the receding backside of the dragedan. mal might have been an object of interest before, but dragedan cur, alone and outnumbered, took precedence. caiaphas had not forgotten the iniquities suffered on their aggressive neighbor’s behalf — as the spot-cloaked male moved off, caiaphas trailed right after him.