The flap of the tent rustled, and instead of Noah's snarky face, a puff of white, fluffy wool poked through first. Robin, the Chief of the Sheep Tribe, squeezed his way inside, his head and upper back covered in that thick, snowy fleece that had finally grown back after the great shave a month ago.
"Land-Mother," Robin whispered, his voice trembling as he bowed so low his woolly forehead nearly touched the furs.
I felt that familiar heat crawl up my neck. Land-Mother. I'm never going to get used to that title, I thought, offering him a slightly awkward, lopsided smile.
"Hey, Robin. You're just in time."
He straightened up and then blinked, his eyes going wide as they landed on the tanned figure sitting in the corner.
"Prince Thalor? The currents have truly brought a blessing to this tent."
Thalor stood, his regal air returning even in the cramped space.
