I watch the anger flash across the tall, strong man’s face and cannot help but feel a small faltering within myself in fear for Aithniel and then reeling back into a confused fear as to why he stayed mad when I said she wasn’t usually allowed to come with us. Surely this man knew of the rules mother lived by? I was under the opinion that most of them were of the same mind that she was if the meeting I had gone to with her was any precursor, and that it roused such emanations from the dual horned titan confuses me.

My face probably reads as much as I stare at him with large, unblinking eyes, leaning ever so slightly towards my sister (perhaps I shouldn’t have shoved her away so soon) until a smile breaks the hostility that had turned him into fearsome stone. If he is father’s cousin, I’m looking forward to my future – the thought of being as impressive a figure as this man or my dad makes a young boy’s heart flutter.

He’s suddenly much nicer than he had been at first, which almost makes me smile because it reminds me of father and his moods – but I am also worried that any giggles or grins on my behalf may come across as mockery and so I remain stoic in the face of my humorous comparison. I catch the name my sister has given herself and I am not so tactful in restraining the grin that breaks my features.

It’s a pretty name, one that suits her well and that I like repeating to myself silently.

A chirp draws my eyes downwards and Aithniel’s shoulder jostles me, and as she squeals in delight I take in a sharp inhalation of excitement and bound forward as well. "A griffon!" I cry, echoing the more childish name that my sister has given the creature with its real title. Hopefully Uncle will not judge her for not knowing what it is called – I already told him that momma doesn’t have much to do with her and, unfortunately, sounding like an idiot is a consequence. I mentally mark down in my young mind to teach her about companions the next time we have a chance to be alone together so she doesn’t make that mistake again.

"Oh, she’s so pretty!" my nose is lowered and I admire the color of her feathers and the wide, intelligent eyes nestled in her face. The creature is even more wonderful than it had sounded to me when momma had described them and I can’t stop staring for the life of me. "What’s her name? How did you get her egg? Momma says there is an old turtle that hoards them."

She hadn’t actually said those words exactly, but from what my little mind can remember and process that’s the best paraphrasing job I can accomplish. I think the story was more along the lines of that she’d found an old turtle once who had an egg and that he’d said he did it quite often, but that was just too many words for such an exciting moment.