. . .

Edmund is safe with the wolf.

He sits by the wolf and he is safe with the wolf and he knows he is safe with the wolf, because he has yet to sire an heir.

He leans against its fur and he lets it comfort him. He even lets it lick him — not on the skin, but on the shoulder of his vest. It is probably the best gigantic chained-up wolf companion that a boy could ever hope for; the wolf has practically raised him, and he loves and hates it like a father, like a father who ate your natural father, like a father who probably expects to bite your head off one day and gulp it down and make you a part of its muscle and its bone?

. . . Like that!

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