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Who is that, she corrected automatically as the kid looked up at her, glad that for now, at least, he didn't seem as eager to latch onto curse words as he was names. His name is Sverke. He's a friend.

The "what" in question continued to worm in and she shifted a bit against the walls of the den to make room, her paw slipping from his head to his neck to try and gently coax the kid in closer. Uh, mine? I suppose? It was more question than answer, as her gaze flickered between them. I actually don't know where he came from. He just sort of... showed up. Cupid said he may have been sent by the gods. A soul in need of shelter.

Her mouth twisted, even now, at the possibility. The irony wasn't lost on her, but so much time had passed since she'd first waved away the strange circumstances as divine, and still she wasn't any closer a concrete answer. If anything, the lines had only blurred further. Her memories, her episodes, her blackouts. The poisoned river, the wolves who could ferment fruit into wine, and the child — bright as the sun — deposited into her lap.

If the gods were truly real, they sure had a sick way of proving their existence.

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