4
I turned to see David Lachlan, one of the Council members, waving me down. His broad stomach stretched the fibers of his sweater vest, and his curly salt and pepper hair seemed to be giving in to the force of gravity, in that more of it now clustered around his ears than the top of his head. Although some might perceive him as ridiculous, I knew his true age and abilities, and I always treated him with wariness and respect.
In spite of his girth, he approached quickly and with more grace on his feet than one would expect. It was how he hunted both politically and as a wolf: making the prey underestimate him.
“David,” I said and inclined my head to acknowledge his superiority in our little hierarchy. We all liked to pretend we weren’t subject to the British crown.
“Gods, lad, I haven’
