Page 83 of Changelings
Balar grumbled. “It’s…pa-ket mus.”
“Pa-ket mus,” she repeated. “And what is that?” She’d been doing her best to learn their mantii language but hadn’t heard that phrase before. It definitely wasn’twhen is supperorit’s my turn in the sun; she already knew those.
Another grumble and sigh. “It means the molt is upon us.” He saidmoltlike it was a curse.
“I see. So you’re shedding like Shadow does?”
As if on cue, her dog scratched at his ear with a back foot, tongue lolling as he hit a good spot.
Balar scoffed in offense. “Worse. Far worse. Our fur sheds and our wings loose old feathers. Usually it happens further apart, but this cursed cold weather has made both come at once.”
Imogen bit her lips together to keep from laughing. He looked downright despondent, sulking in his seat.
No wonder they were all miserable if they were shedding fur and feathers all at once. The ducks were always cranky when they molted, and Chestnut could get positively murderous if a goat tried to encroach on her scratching post during sheddingseason.
Laying her hand gently on his blanketed head, she asked, “Is it painful?”
“No,” he grumbled, “not truly. But it’s the height of discomfort.”
Making soothing noises in her throat, Imogen circled behind him to rummage through a cupboard. She kept a few old brushes to help the animals shed their winter coats. Finding one with shorter bristles and not too much of Shadow’s fur from last year stuck in it, Imogen again tugged at the blanket.
“Let me see what we’re dealing with.”
But he held the blanket tight. “No. I can’t be seen like this.”
“Balar, I’ve seen you naked enough times now. This won’t shock me.” There had been plenty of days over winter, when they’d been holed up in the cabin alone together, that he went around naked. She’d gotten quite used to seeing his taut, tawny backside, actually. She found it charming, especially how his tail sat right above it and would swish behind him.
The tip of that tail, curled up on the floor, flicked moodily.
“It’s precisely that reason that you can’t see me now.”
“So I’m just not supposed to look at you until your mane comes back?”
“Yes!”
Imogen rolled her eyes. “That’s not happening. Come on, let me help. You’ll feel better.”
“It cannot be helped—I’mugly.”
Her inhale was sharp and her patience gone. Taking hold of his big dumb face between her hands, she lifted it so he had to look at her when she said, “None of that. You couldneverbe ugly.”
His green-gold eyes glittered. “Do you mean it,kigara?”
“Of course I do. You’re the handsomest man I know.”
“In the whole world?”
Imogen smiled. “In the whole world.”
Balar rumbled more agreeably. “I don’t mean to be silly,urisá, it’s just…a man’s pride is his mane and wings.”
“No, a man’s pride is how he cares for his people, and you’ve got much to be proud of.”
A reluctant purr buzzed in his chest, muted somewhat by the blanket. “You’re good to say that.”
“It’s the truth. Now, will you let me help you feel better?”
He hesitated another moment, but then he let the blanket slump away onto the chairback. Honestly, from the way he was going on, she’d half-expected to find him bald. Instead, his mane was thinner and patchy, yes, but it was still a mane. It was around his shoulders that the largest tufts congregated, and she could pull these out easily with her fingers.
