Which is met with grouching from Gunnar. “You only like him because he fed you. I was around, too. I’m the one who brought you all the stones,” he replies crossly. I slowly turn to face the man-child who is about as close to a tantrum as an adult could get. “You were the one leaving the rocks?” I question. “Not just rocks—they’re gemstones.” Gunnar folds his arms over his puffed-out chest.
