But he remembered biting the shopkeeper’s finger one day when he’d tried to feed him a berry. It’d been an accident. The shopkeeper had been angry. He’d bled. Mistress Henspar had been mad, too. But that night, she’d still patted him on the head and scritched under his wing and turned up the fire in the hearth just how he liked it. She’d said it was okay. That it wasn’t his fault, and that Volteeg loved berries so much, he’d bitten the shopkeeper in his enthusiasm. Which was true. Mistress Henspar had understood him. She loved him. And because she loved him, she would protect him, even when he
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