*Oliver*
“Slow down!” I yell.
The daft she-wolf is going to break her lovely neck the way she scrambles over the rough terrain in an effort to get to the small cove where I found her last night. Following in her wake, I’ve already yelled at her several times to hold on, but she fails to heed my words, the stubborn wench. She’s as independent a she-wolf as I’ve ever known.
Intriguing and secretive, she’s no doubt grateful the bit of cloth that made its quick appearance has given her an excuse not to finish her tale. I want to know exactly how she went from knocking on the door at the Royal Palace to warming Pineworth’s bed. I strive not to be jealous but have the sense I’m failing miserably. I don’t want to return her to Blackrock City, nor do I want to envision Pineworth there waiti
