I clap my hand to my mouth in horror. How could I have forgotten to tell them about Fairpaws evening tea? It is a ritual for the old grounds manager. Every night, like clockwork, he takes tea at ten. It is an odd thing, but one upon which he insists. Tea, steaming hot, with milk and sugar, butter shortbread and strawberry jam. He demands his nightly snack, and woe to anyone who interrupts. I once borrowed the teapot and found myself without blankets for a week. In December.
My eyes fly to the clock. It is quarter past nine. Typhon and Fire Moon had left fifteen minutes ago. They will be arriving at the pack grounds …
Oh dear Lord, they will be arriving right when Fairpaw is preparing his snack. The man might be getting on in years and quite deaf, but he still has a keen nose..
I stand, my eyes wide and my expression resolute. They need me. Typhon needs me.
*Jonas*