Sofia peeped.
My vet reflex kicked in. I reached toward her, slow and careful.
Sofia sniffed my fingers and chirped.
Brovish watched, frowning. “Do you know much about emberkits?”
“I know animals.” I kept my hand steady while Sofia investigated. “She’s small, warm-blooded, and flight-capable. It’s the same basic approach.”
“Most people grab.”
Sofia launched herself at me.
I barely registered the jump before she landed on my shoulder, her claws catching in the fabric of my raincoat. She weighed almost nothing, and heat poured off her, through the wet canvas, into my skin, spreading down my arm. She peeped, adjusted her grip, and tucked herself against my neck.
Her warmth seeped into my chest.
Brovish stared at his shoulder where Sofia had been, then at me. His nose twitched. “I guess she likes you.”
“You sound surprised.”
“She doesn’t usually—” He shook his head and rain scattered from his saturated hair. “She’s very choosing about who she goes to.”
Choosing. It reminded me that orcs spoke their own language, that they were still learning mine.
“How long have you had her?” I asked, stroking Sofia’s back. She made a sound like a tiny purr crossed with a crackle.
“A year. She follows me everywhere. Or—” He looked at his empty shoulder with something like betrayal. “She did.”
“I’m sure it’s just the novelty. New person, new smell.”
“She hates new people.”
I smiled. “Maybe I’m special.”
His eyes met mine, dark and unreadable. “Maybe you are.”
I was suddenly aware that we were standing in a hallway alone at midnight and an orc I’d just met was looking at me like I’d performed magic instead of just existing in the vicinity of his pet.
Sofia peeped, breaking the moment.
“You mentioned an injured clatterwing?” I said, a little too quickly.
He turned and headed down the hall. The driftwhisp trailed after him, fluttering up and down as if suspended from a string. Sofia snuggled into my neck.
I had the feeling I’d passed a test I hadn’t known I was taking.
We reached a door at the end of the hall, and Brovish paused with his hand on the knob.
“Quick question,” I said. “Do clatterwings bite?”
He thought about this longer than was comforting. “Not exactly. They don’t have teeth.”
“Okay, good?—”
“They dive onto people when they’re stressed. And their feathers are metal. So it’s more of a collision situation.”
I stared at him.
