Page 120 of The Sun He Buried

“Snowpetal?”

Asta turns toward the path.

“She was here.”

“She was,” Ketill says.

“Where did she go?”

Movement shakes a low branch beyond the yard.

Snow drops.

Snowpetal hops out of the trees with a dead rabbit in her mouth.

Both rear legs drag between her paws. Two small holes mark its throat. She crosses the yard, places it on my boot, and sits.

Her white eyes lift to mine.

Oh.

“Did you catch this?”

Snowpetal purrs.

“All by yourself?”

Her club-tail thumps the ground.

“You clever, horrible baby.” I kneel and rub between her horns. “I love it. Thank you.”

Asta considers the rabbit. “That shouldn’t have sounded sweet.”

“She brought me a present.”

Snowpetal puts one paw on the rabbit’s head.

“You may eat your present.”

She bites through the neck.

Ketill looks away.

Eirik doesn’t.

“Your animal has table manners suited to Baldr’s court.”

I look up at him. “She likes you.”

“She left the rabbit with you.”

“She sat on your boot.”

“A threat.”

Snowpetal begins eating one ear.

Eirik looks at the trees. “She needs blood.”