The boy cocked his head at me, his dark, curly hair all blown about by the storm that Dante had cooked up before we’d made it down here. “Wolfy,” he said, pointing at me. “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “You don’t get a free pass just because you’re tiny and cute. I should be out there fighting. I’m a warrior.” I pounded my fist against my chest and the little guy mimicked me. “Wolfy,” he repeated.
