remember not our faulty pieces

Basilisk lounged happily against Hazel. So far, they’d gotten away with their flatting arrangement without so much as a peep of protest from the adults. The treehouse was often a cluttered mess. Filled with odd projects, and stashes of food for hungry teenagers. It was home in a way the cave had never felt like. “Did you kill them?” Basilisk asked, tilting his head in order to see her own tilted position, looking up at him. He grinned widely at her, the thoughts of her giving the coyotes a piece of her mind was thrilling.

“There was almost a fight at the market” He said, his voice made it clear what he thought of that ‘almost’. “Some old hag tried to rip off one of our wolves”


"Speech"