To their surprise Glimora made herself comfortable on Zyran's shoulder. She did not look like she was about to scratch his eyes out or spit in his face. She simply settled there, tiny legs planted like hooks, tail coiled around the back of his neck like a white scarf that had opinions.
Even Zyran, who had been braced for teeth, frowned when he received nothing. No bite. No swipe. No tiny tyrant tantrum. Just weight. Warmth. Presence. The beast version of "I live here now." Everyone knew it, though.
Isabella stared in shock. Her spoon hovered, rice dripping back into the bowl one grain at a time. She was so confused. Was this not the same Glimora that had been sending Zyran death glares since sunrise? Why was she suddenly perched on his shoulder like she loved him more than the sun?
