Morveren likes to think she’s helpful by picking up his paintbrushes and throwing them into the pit. It’s not helpful, but it is cute.
Thoth is busily excavating one of Nimueh’s flowerbeds when the giant wolf appears. As far as she can see, Thoth is using the paintbrushes in the pit, so he therefore needs them in the pit. Excavation is a painstakingly slow hobby at the best of times, but when one’s young familiar insists on picking up his tools and ‘helpfully’ flinging them into his work, it grinds almost to a halt. Acknowledging that he’s not going to get much done today but not as irritated by it as he would be if it were anyone else standing in his way, Thoth picks up one of the brushes and tickles Morveren’s belly. She squeals and rolls onto her back, emitting the most fairylike sound he’s ever heard from her: a distinct, babyish chuckle. The fun ends when she suddenly sits up straight and points her nose behind him, touching his mind with a curious mix of emotions which are difficult to pin down. Thoth whips around.
Wolf.
The last time Thoth had seen a wolf, it had been an odd experience: the she-wolf from the marsh had quietly and effortlessly incited him to a level of control that had eluded him his entire life. His father had been strongly connected to wolves, he knew, and endless replays of the event have led him to believe that he must have some kind of a connection too. Certainly, something beyond the ability to simply communicate with them. Slowly, cautiously, Thoth rises to his feet and makes his way over with Morveren trotting so closely by his side that she’s pressed against his leg.
Some part of him knows, even before the wolf opens its mouth. The words should come as no great shock, but they don’t sit easily; a hard lump rises in his throat and he stares gormlessly at the black canine. Thoth has never been able to hide his feelings, nor has ever really tried, and the melting pot of apprehension, curiosity, anger, fear, confusion and self-depreciation are written plainly across his face. He has no idea which emotion to act upon until Morveren decides for him, by raising her hackles and growling at the wolf. She’s tiny compared to him – about the size of a fox kit, with a tail as long as her body – but she stares defiantly up at him, fearless, and her brashness seeps over to him through their telepathic link. Slowly, Thoth’s hands curl into fists at his sides.
“That’s not how it works,” he can’t keep the initial quiver of emotion from his voice, which angers him sufficiently to suppress it. “He’s the parent and I’m the child. He’s supposed to be there when I need him, not the other way round.” His eyes well up and, quite beyond his will, his voice rises to a shout. “And why in hell’s name can’t he tell me what he likes himself?”
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