“I’ve had enough of these antics.”
Corsair stood on the landing, back against the wall. His tail curled. His ears fell. His eyes lowered. One paw covered the left side of his neck, hiding the flesh beneath it.
His father stood before him, half a metre away, with one paw raised up and holding the ruined parchment in question. The black spot had dried on to the material, a permanent stain on the soiled writing sheet.
“How much do you think I pay for Mr Klement to come here and tutor you both on clan history?”
Corsair was silent.
“Answer me.”
“A lot, father.”
“A lot, yes. A lot of Iggregoms to ensure that you two should be able to become leaders who know what the hell is going on in Vos Draemar. So the clan can prosper and survive.”
He gestured to the blank ruined parchment.
“But you
