Fortunately for her bored sister, Kvitrafn was in the area. She, too, had gone off to explore for things to do, birds to watch, and bugs to collect, but had ultimately grown bored in the interim. She had seen all the birds she could count, dug up all the bugs she could chew, and were it not for the super cool stick she found, she would’ve dragged her lengthy paws all the way back home…defeated.

BUT HUZZAH!

She had found a glorious, gnarled, and twisted stick.

Just large enough for her to wield without toppling over on her side and just small enough for her to carry at a languid pace, if she kept her paws and eyes straight in front of her, that is.

When her sister’s scream tore through the air, Kvitrafn was obliged to listen.

If not her, then who?

But as she approached, jaw clamped possessively around her new stick (that she so was not in the mood to share), Kvitrafn found herself pausing as her own eyes grew into wide, amethyst saucers.

There were those funny-looking lights fluttering around her sister again.

Kvitrafn still didn’t quite know what they were.

But what better way to learn than with her newfound stick?

She wondered whether they would disappear if swiped at, or whether the lights themselves would bounce and sway in the wind. Were they attracted to her sister like some animals were to flowers? Or did they come out of her sister? Were they attached to some long piece of hair that was too thin for the eyes to see?

Kvitrafn had too many questions.

So, she raced forward—stick in jaw, a bellied scream atop her lips, and aimed to swipe at the space above her sister’s rump—hopeful in her attempt to see what would happen to those tiny motes of light.

Kvitrafn hadn’t expected her sister to turn, for her body to rise, or for her head to be directly beneath the weight of her very large, beautiful, gnarled stick. Neither had she expected the force or the strength that her sister could wield when her skull made impact with Kvitrafn’s newest prized possession. She knew her sister was large—growing more quickly than herself—but were skulls always that strong? Or was it just a trait special to her Viking sister?

Kvit’s own teeth rattled in her skull as her body wobbled following the collision, her back legs trembling with a desire to stand despite the impact promising otherwise. But she did not fall—thankfully—and as soon as her eyesight had sharpened from the blurry vision that followed, she blinked at her sister again.

Roskva’s words were lost to Kvitrafn’s ears, for what guilt she might’ve felt had been diluted and preoccupied by the glorious, shiny tooth that now rested beside her sister’s paw.

Had she…done that?

Kvitrafn couldn’t ignore the desire to peer at it more closely, briefly dropping her stick from her mouth as she did so. The tooth was marvelous—smaller than she imagined it would be, and a bit covered in the familiar droplets of blood, but that was okay; she already loved it.

Can I have it? She asked with bulging eyes, pupils blown and a stare that already said she wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

But when her sister’s tears were sucked back in (tears and emotions that Kvitrafn hadn’t noticed in her fascination with the tooth at their feet), and her sister asked for Kvit to get the rest, the little gremlin of a child was all for it.

As long as she could keep the rest of them.

Her wagged excitedly behind her as she lunged for the stick again: Wready? She asked her sister, with a mouthful of her glorious branch.

And without a second to spare, Kvitrafn swung the club again in Roskva’s direction, hopeful that even more teeth would fall from her mouth once more.

Like a real-life piñata.

There wasn’t a world in which Kvitrafn would allow Roskva’s sweet little teeth to be cast to the side and buried like the entrails of rotting meat—like trash. No. Never. They weren’t trash; they were glorious little artifacts that made up who Roskva, her Viking sister, was. And Kvitrafn wanted them all.

What exactly would she use them for? She wasn’t sure, but something inside her told her that the why and what weren’t important. The only thing that mattered was getting her little paws all over them and collecting them like jewels lost to time.

The second whack had somehow been harder. A more intentional thwack that left Kvit’s teeth chattering within her skull, digging deeper into her gums with a painful pinch she hadn’t expected. She yelped at the sudden impact, dropping the stick for a singular moment, as her own tongue investigated one of her tiny molars within her mouth.

It wiggled.

That was weird.

Perhaps the stick had changed its mind on whose teeth it desired.

But Kvitrafn didn’t want to lose her teeth.

And so she mumbled to herself—to her teeth—a little threat: Stay in there, you tiny bones. Or else.

And once she was satisfied with her warning, certain that her own fangs would remain where they were, she turned her attention back toward her sister—who had now lost another tooth.

But where it had gone, Kvitrafn didn’t know.

An amethyst stare swept the stone corridors of their den, searching through the dark for any bloody remnant of the tiny enamel. But when she found nothing, Kvitrafn shrugged, ignoring the tiny voice inside her mind that seethed and sobbed at the apparent loss.

I dunno, she said with a shrug, ‘prolly not.

She reached for her stick again. We should try again, she mumbled with her mouth full.

Wready?

This time, Kvitrafn hoped that one wiggling molar would stay within her mouth, just as she had demanded it to.

Kvitrafn swung.

Although this time, she received no teeth from her meat-filled, tooth-giving piñata of a sister. No, somehow the stick (or herself) miscalculated the trajectory of her aim, and the impact went elsewhere. Straight into her sister’s flank and right into the fragile bones of her ribs.

Though, unlike the head, this one had felt more spongy—sending Kvitrafn’s own paws stumbling backward as her head wobbled from side to side.

Somewhere, Roskva whined, her voice echoing in the tinier compartments of her ear as Kvitrafn squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to re-steady her limbs and the stick that now teetered to one side between her teeth.

Augh, Kvitrafn groaned, I’m TRYING!

It was a lot harder than one would think to try to knock out the teeth of your sibling!

Kvit blinked her eyes back open, fluttering darkened lashes in her sister’s direction as she finally found her own internal equilibrium—steady as she could be for the next round—

—Roskva stole her stick.

Swiftly and abruptly.

With so little time for Kvitrafn to react.

She had tried to give it a single tug, a garbled: NO! shouted from her lips—but it had been futile from the very beginning. Roskva was simply bigger and stronger than her, even without her missing teeth.

HEY! The white raven called out, but it had been too late.

Her sister swung.

Swiftly and abruptly.

With a far better aim than Kvitrafn had given her credit for.

Immediately, she saw stars dot her vision, flickering like the motes of mysterious light that often followed her sister in her silence. Her ears rang, her teeth had chattered within her skull, and unwillingly, tears welled in her eyes as she yelped in sudden shock.

How had Roskva taken this twice?

Surely, Roskva was hitting her harder than Kvit had hit her!

OW! The girl cried out, but the minute she had, the white raven felt something small dislodge from her gums and tumble with tiny plinks and plunks onto the solid ground between their feet.

She froze.

Was that...

To Kvitrafn’s horror, a tiny molar had come free, just as Roskva had expected.

Had her threat to her own teeth meant nothing?!

MY TOOTH! She cried out.