Page 163 of The Sun He Buried

That answer is quiet.

“And you embarrassed me.”

“I know.”

“I’m still angry about it.”

“You hide it beautifully.”

He looks down. Not at the floor. At the cup.

Up close, with no one to perform being terrible for, he just looks tired.

It’s annoying.

The kitchen door slams open.

Snowpetal comes through at full speed with Asta’s ribbon wrapped around one horn.

“Snowpetal.”

She hits the center table, scatters three wooden spoons, and launches onto the sideboard.

One spoon lands in the wash basin.

Another strikes the floor.

The third disappears beneath Eirik’s chair.

Snowpetal runs along the sideboard, knocks a folded cloth into the hearth water, and reaches the butter.

“No.”

She puts one paw in it.

“That was very clear.”

I stand.

Snowpetal jumps to the shelf behind Eirik.

He doesn’t move.

She steps onto his left shoulder.

One white paw crosses the back of his neck. Then another. Her tail club passes close enough to the mask that I stop breathing.

Eirik watches her from the corner of his pale-green eye.

Snowpetal walks across both shoulders, jumps to the table behind me, and grabs a strip of drying meat.

“Put that down.”

She runs.

I catch her around the middle before she reaches the door.

Snowpetal turns boneless.