Thistle entered the room with a fresh loaf of bread. Behind him, back in his Destrier clothes, came Ravyn. Heat rose up my collar. Suddenly, I was very preoccupied with my plate. “Smells amazing,” Ravyn said, patting Thistle’s back. He came up behind his parents and Emory, stealing a slice of bread off his father’s plate. He passed Elm, mussing his cousin’s wild hair before taking a seat.
