The cliffside manor was usually filled with very loud, very distinct sounds. You could always hear Vali howling in the yard, Orion and Jasper arguing over structural measurements, or Rurik chopping wood with unnecessary force.
But on a quiet Thursday morning, the sound that caught my attention was a very small, very polite *quack*.
I was standing at the kitchen island, chopping fresh strawberries for breakfast. I paused, my knife hovering over the cutting board. My silver fox ears twitched.
"Did someone drop a squeaky toy?" I murmured to myself.
I wiped my hands on my apron and walked around the counter. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking completely serious, was six-year-old Silas. The little panther-cub was holding his hands cupped together against his chest.
