“As you say.” Caen walks off, and I travel in the opposite direction, toward the treeline.
“Squeak!”
I look over to see Harold sitting on my shoulder, giving me a questioning look.
“What do you say? One more hunt for the day?”
He looks at me with his beady little eyes, his pug nose twitching with intent.
“You are not starving, so stop looking at me like that,” I snarl.
“Squeak! Squeak!”
“You think me a fool? There is plenty of food for you back at my hut—no one forced you into my pouch!”
“Squeak!”
“Sweet Temp?—”
“Ramsey?” a voice halts me.
I look over and see Elena approaching, her brow narrowed in question.
“Yes?”
“Who were you talking to?”
“The wind,” I tell her. “I was?—”
“I see him on your shoulder!” she says, arms crossed over her chest.
I look to my right and see him, too.
Damn you, Harold!
“What do you need?”
“To talk.”
“You women have too many words for my liking.”
“Is that why you’re with Harold?”
Again, I look over at the vaeyark, silently cursing him.
“I need to ask you something,” Elena says, her voice dipping low.
I sigh. “Then ramble, as you do.”
“Is there something going on with Grixis?”
“Why would you ask?”
“Just answer the question.”
I shift uncomfortably, looking around in all directions before shrugging. “He has great worries, and it is not wrong to blame me for some of them.”
“Because of the meeting?”
