Bonjour! I have six sentences for you today. Actually six, not five or seven. Six. I may be a liiiiittle bit excited about that.
And if that title scared you, I’m not sorry at all. *cackles* Ready? Read on!
He looked again to the child’s mother, wearing her own pelt as a sling for her infant, and the toddler at her feet wearing her baby-soft hide as a wrapped skirt, and thought of his own pelt, hidden away, a note left for Gwendolyn in his things in case he didn’t survive. A selkie ought to be laid to rest with his pelt, in times of peace–which these weren’t.
He trusted Gwendolyn to obey the instructions, to burn the pelt if need be. Her reaction to his offering it had settled his worries on that. Even so, the subconscious lingering thought that someone might find it and use it against him sent a bone-deep chill through him.
His father had died that way.