“Elma,” he said, interrupting. She could feel the heat in his voice, his excitement in the languorous way he nuzzled her neck. “Home? What do I care about home? I could never see Slödava again and die happy, just for the chance to spend a week of nights in your bed. Even for one night, really. I mean, all you’d have to do was ask. Want me to declare war on my mother? I’ll do it.”
