Page 164 of The Sun He Buried

The meat stays in her mouth.

“You can’t steal from every room you enter.”

Her back paws catch my skirt. One talon hooks the fabric.

I shift her higher, grab the meat, and miss.

Snowpetal twists.

The ribbon comes loose from her horn and falls over my face.

“Stop helping.”

She purrs.

I get the meat on the second attempt.

Snowpetal catches it again.

When I turn around, Eirik is gone.

So is the coffee.

Chapter Seventeen

Snowpetal has butter behind her left ear.

I’ve washed her twice.

The butter remains.

She sits on the rug beside Baldr’s bed and licks one white paw while I work at it with a damp cloth.

“Hold still.”

Her ear folds beneath my thumb.

She turns her head and puts the paw on my wrist.

“You did this to yourself.”

Snowpetal licks my knuckle.

The butter is winning.

Baldr sits on the edge of the bed pulling a clean shirt over his head. He came in ten minutes ago with snow in his hair, a broken roof peg in one pocket, and enough wet wool on him to fill a bath.

His hair is still damp against his neck. The pale-green eye disappears behind the collar, then the amber one. He gets his head through and looks at me.

“You put her in the butter?”

“She put herself in it.”

“How?”

“With one paw.”

Snowpetal tries to take the cloth.