For once, the conversation focuses on my sister, and while I do feel twinges of jealousy that my Uncle is ignoring me for my adopted sibling, I concede and let her have the attention that she so rarely gets from any adults aside from momma when its time for dinner. I tried really hard to ask questions during that time about whatever it was we’d learned that day for Aithniel’s benefit, but my dam was not stupid for as much as she was insane and very rarely played along. That had left me with only a few stolen moments with her where I could either play (which was by far the better choice) or play barely-older-brother-teacher with her (which was terribly droll, and not one of my strong suits).

The question he asks manages to tear my eyes away from the griffon for a moment before they flutter back, ears taking in Aith’s response and smiling softly at her lack of detail. Is that really all she knew about how we’d found her? I snort chuckle in a somewhat mean way, not truly to hurt her – because it isn’t her fault she doesn’t know – but to remind her how others will treat her when her ignorance shows so clearly. It’s a mean thing momma has taught me and despite that it makes me feel like shit when she does it to me, it’s really fun to do to other people.

"I found you. We almost passed you, actually, but you were very white and the grass was quite green," I say proudly, looking up from Irelyn with a pleased smile on my lips as I look over at my snowy sibling, "momma was eating lunch in the Thistle Meadow and we heard you crying." I wonder why it is we’ve never talked about this before, but shrug it off with ease and slip my eyes back to the griffon now that I’ve told them all I know about where she had come from.

Uncle Torleik tells us her name as we both fall back into playing with her, a pretty sounding thing that is followed shortly after by a mocking snort from my sister. I look over at her hotly, brows creased and my golden eyes burning with agitation. It’s what momma had said! Why would she make up some nonsense story about a turtle?

The laugh of the nearby stallion draws my eyes towards him, his words cooling my temper and putting a stupid expression on Aithniel’s face and I smile smugly to know she had wrongly mocked me. That there really is a turtle takes a moment to dawn on me because of my jilted ego – and when it does, I struggle against making the same face she does.

There really is a turtle that hoards eggs?!

My eyes look over excitedly at my Thistle Sister, the yearning to find this creature and take one of his precious eggs pulsing in my head as I plot how we’ll steal away into the wilds to look for him.

But she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at the griffon, a dreamy look on her face. And what she says makes me frown and feel really, really sad – mostly because what momma says of her means she’ll never be worthy of much of anything. I don’t agree, of course; she’s smart, even if she doesn’t know very much, and her heart is strong. I have more fun playing with Aithniel than I do during any other part of my day, and I know in my heart that she’s not the monster that everyone says she is. Why would I like her so much if she was?

"I hope so too," I say, looking at her with a less hostile and arrogant smile on my face, one that resonates with the truth that I deeply wish it for her but that I also wouldn’t mind having a bonded friend, too, "you can even have a griffon if you want, Aith! You have horns. Momma said they only bond with those who have them." My smile grows excited, golden eyes flashing with the knowledge I have that Aithniel does not, eager to share it with her but not wanting to be rude in front of my uncle – he probably knows all of this too, after all. But, eager as all boys, some spills out anyway. "Ohhh, or you have wings!" my body trembles with excitement at the notion that she can bond with the pegasus creatures, the burning birds that had sounded ever so fascinating no matter the disgust that had tinged momma’s voice when she talked of them, "Momma says that there are these great big birds that are on fire and occasionally burn into nothing and become hatchlings again. Those are only for people who can fly though." The last sentence is spoken with a barely hidden bitterness, some jealousy managing to have found its way into my heart as soon as I’d put together that Aith, one day, would be able to be like a bird and fly away from this place and anything else she felt was holding her down.

That meant she could leave me, and I didn’t like that thought much at all.