Muriel
I held little Euan in my lap and cooed to him. Beside me, a red wolf sat patiently as a baby grasped his fur with chubby fists. With a chorus of babbling, the baby pulled himself up and started to walk, holding tightly to the red pelt.
I laughed softly at Fergus’ long-suffering expression. Do you want me to distract him?
Nay. This is how the bairn’s learn. When he’s older, I’ll teach him to mind his uncle Fergus. The wolf stuck his wet nose on the back of the baby’s knee, and Jacob lost his footing.
“Yoohoo,” someone called. I tensed, peering through the bushes. We’d carried the babies through a secret hall to a hidden cave lower down the mountain. The day was fine, and though there was a chill in the summer air, the wind wasn’t as bad as it was further up the mountain. We were
