27
There was nothing cosier than being by the fireplace when it was storming outside. It would’ve been a lot better if I wasn’t sharing it with a grumpy old man.
“I hate rain,” Var complained for the fifth or sixth time. “Bah.”
“Doesn’t bother me.” I shrugged, poking the fire so it spat cinders and sparks. “I enjoy the rain.”
My new mentor grumbled. “It’s too wet, too loud, and it makes my joints shriek.”
“That’s because you’re old.”
He threw a piece of bread at my head, but I deflected it easily. It fell to the wooden floor where Hyde quickly lapped it up.
My dusk wolf gave me an expectant look, his ears flopping around his head as he begged for more food.
“Here.” I threw a piece of my bread roll to him, more than happy to share. He was my companion, my familiar. I’d share my last
