Finlay
The first thing I did when I woke up the following morning was to go and knock on Amie’s door. She looked half asleep when she opened the door.
“Finn, is something wrong?” she asked, followed by a yawn that would have dislocated most people’s jaws.
“Nothing wrong. How are your ribs?” I asked. She stretched, turned from side to side and then shrugged.
“They don’t hurt at all. I guess Hugo was right. How about your side and your arm?”
“That’s not important. You are sure you are fine?”
“I’m sure, and it is important,” she insisted. She started unwrapping the bandage I had on my arm after my brother had clawed me.
“See, not even a scar,” I told her. She let her fingers caress over the skin.
“Good. Then we are both fine,” she said. I wasn’t all the way happy, I felt like I should
