CAINE
"We're firing up the grill tonight," the old woman says, patting her husband's arm affectionately. "Got some ribs marinating since this morning. You folks should join us!"
Grace stutters beside me, her cheeks flushing as her eyes dart from me to our new, extra-friendly neighbors. "Oh, that's—"
"Is there gonna be BRAT-worsts?" Jer interrupts, bouncing on his toes with a manic energy that makes me wonder if he's capable of standing still for longer than three seconds.
Grace whispers, "It's brot—not brat."
The kid crosses his arms, defiant as he frowns at Grace. He has spunk, but he's going to need to learn not to cross a Luna so easily. "I like bratwurst."
"You should at least say the word right," Sara mutters, conveniently placing Jer between her and Fenris. She probably doesn't think anyone notices, but I do.
