He threw a scowl over his shoulder, taking a moment to let his disapproval settle first on me and then the Drae behind me. “You two have frayed my last nerve.” My brief flash of good humor disappeared. “It’s Tyrrik’s fault. He’s sulking.” “I’m not sulking,” the one-hundred-and-nine-year old said. “Mmm-hmm, sure.” Dyter exploded. “Enough!” He whirled on us, stomping back to wave a finger in my face. “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t speak at all.” “That’s what we were doing before,” I huffed. “You said it made you cranky.”
