Page 155 of The Sun He Buried

The second is hanging from one of Snowpetal’s horns.

I stand in the doorway between our rooms and look at her.

She looks back from the middle of my blanket.

“Give it to me.”

Snowpetal lowers her head.

The stocking stretches across her nose and hangs past one white ear.

“That’s not yours.”

Her tail club strikes the mattress.

Asta takes the stocking from her before either of us can make the situation worse. Snowpetal allows this because she respects Asta and enjoys making me negotiate for everything.

“Thank you.”

Asta gives it to me. “You left the other one in his room.”

“It came off.”

“Did it.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and pull it over my foot. “He helped.”

“I heard.”

The storm covers the windows and the walls remain thin. A very unfair arrangement.

Snowpetal attacks the ribbon at the end of Asta’s braid.

Asta catches the little white paw without turning around. “No.”

Snowpetal tries the other one.

“Also no.”

I pull on the second stocking. “Baldr was gone when I woke up.”

“He’s been downstairs since dawn.”

“You knew?”

“Somebody came for him. The roof crews needed help.”

I heard none of this.

That may explain Asta’s face.

I find my blue dress across the chair and put my arms through. One sleeve has turned itself inside out. I fight with it until Asta takes my wrist, fixes the fabric, and pulls my hand through.

“I can dress myself.”

“You’re proving that.”

“The sleeve was mad.”