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Shallan felt the first raindrops just about the time she heard thunder rolling in the distance. When she glanced up, squinting against the falling rain, she could see that dark clouds were racing across the sky, propelled by the same wind which pulled at the long tuft of fur over her forehead. In the few moments it took her to decide that this was going to be a terrible storm, the rain was already falling in torrents, pelting her like pebbles cast from the heavens.

By the time she took a few steps toward home she was already drenched and had given up on fleeing the weather with any sort of dignity, rather like everyone else around her. Everyone was retreating to their dens at speed, crouching low to the ground as if that would somehow keep them dryer than just moving at a normal running gait.

Lightning flashed between the clouds for the first time just as Shallan flung herself into the den and announced somewhat unnecessarily, "Awful weather."

Fjä watched as her den mate flung herself carelessly into the den and proclaimed that the weather was awful. Fjä had already observed as much for herself, but Shallan's dramatics amused her and she smiled at the announcement.

Her smile faded somewhat as she noticed that her den mate was actually quite soaked, and dripping onto the floor. She pointed this out in a somewhat arch tone that implied Shallan had better do something about this state of affairs: "You're dripping."

Fjä might have been more effective at getting Shallan to wipe her paws or something had her second word not been drowned out by a crash of thunder that left her feeling momentarily deafened. Judging by Shallan's expression, she had not heard what Fjä was trying to tell her, and much to Fjä's dismay, she moved further into their shared space, making for her pile of furs.

"You're not going to get on those while you're still wet?" Fjä asked, speaking a little more quickly than usual in case there was another crash of thunder on its way. When none came, she felt a little silly speaking so quickly.

Shallan had no idea what Fjä was trying to tell her, but she could tell from her expression as the thunder rolled that she was not pleased about something. Shallan didn't let that bother her as she moved into the den, away from the puddle forming around her feet and making them muddier than they already were.

She was just about to step onto her sleeping furs when Fjä spoke again, whereupon Shallan froze with one paw raised over the comfortable pelts. Fjä had a point. If she were to lie down now, she would only get her furs wet and muddy, maybe even damaging them permanently, and she would not get significantly drier in the process.

With a long-suffering sigh, Shallan replied, "No."

Then she moved into the main area of their den, closer to the entry than the sleeping portion, and began the laborious process of licking herself dry and getting the mud from her paws.

"I'm just being helpful," Fjä told her den mate. "You'll thank me later when your furs aren't damp and musty. You'll say, 'Fjä, you were right. It was worth the extra time to dry off before laying down, because now I don't smell like I have grown mold overnight. Thank you.'"

Fjä didn't know if Shallan could see her while her head was tucked to her chest, trying to lick her own ribs, but she was smiling as she made her prediction, and her voice was light and pleasant, teasing her more tomboyish companion. Shallan was a good deal more fastidious than many lionesses in the pride, but Fjä was more so.

"Would you like some help?" she offered after watching Shallan struggle to reach the fur between her skull and her shoulders. "It would be no trouble, and then we can get to the part where you tell me about how things went that much faster."

"Oh, yes. I'm sure I'll say exactly that," Shallan answered sarcastically. "And then, in contrition, I'll beg your forgiveness for doubting you."

Still bristling from Fjä's mild rebuke, even with its softening, Shallan almost refused her offer. She really liked to think of herself as an independent lioness. So she wasn't a reaver - she never would be - but that did not mean she was helpless and required assistance to do every little thing, like some people.

It wasn't fair of her to be so annoyed with Fjä just because she hadn't gotten rained on and got to sit there looking perfect and being all sweet and generous and good-natured. But she was. Shallan could be all those things, too, but she had to constantly watch herself to avoid saying anything too caustic or even just sarcastic, and from what she could tell Fjä was naturally like that.

If Fjä was hurt by Shallan's biting response, she gave no sign. She had been introduced to the Stormborn as a thrall to a reaver who kept her as a bed warmer, and although he had felt tenderly toward her - tenderly enough to emancipate her prior to his death - he had not always been gentle or kind. Sometimes he had dark moods, or was careless with his strength. Fjä had handled that. A little bitchiness from her den mate because she was wet and tired was nothing to fuss over.

"I'm sure that's exactly what you'll do once you're warm and dry," Fjä agreed. "Now let me help you. Your tongue is never going to reach some places, and trying is just making your fur stand out all over."

Without waiting for Shallan to respond, which might present her with the opportunity to reject her offer, Fjä walked over and began grooming her with brisk, businesslike strokes of her tongue.

As much as she might have wanted to shrug off Fjä's assistance because she was grouchy, Shallan submitted to her grooming. It felt nice and it was more expedient. And apparently her fur was standing out after her own efforts.

"Thanks," she grumbled. "Sorry for snapping at you."

For a while the two of them worked in silence to get Shallan into a fur-safe state. Once she was in an acceptable state, Shallan flopped gratefully onto her furs and took a moment to just revel in not being on her paws. She had spent a significant portion of her day walking around, trying to find a particular unpleasant lion for Fjä, and although her quest had ultimately proven successful, it had taken far too long, even after enlisting a few thralls to help her out, and then the lion himself had been a p***k.

"Did you want to hear what Blomkvist had to say?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the memory.

Fjä had dismissed Shallan's apology effortlessly, partly because it really didn't bother her when her den mate was occasionally rude, but also because she was more interested in hearing what Blomkvist had to say.

"Of course I do," she answered Shallan. "Wait, do I want to hear it? Maybe I don't. Is it good news?"

She had been waiting to hear about this matter for some time. Since her husband died, in fact. Even a little before that. Unfortunately, judgment on the matter had been delayed because of personal events in the warlord's life, and it had ultimately been up to him to determine what would become of her husband's effects after his death, since they had never been officially married.

The fact was, Fjä could get by without those things, but her life would be more pleasant with them, and she had already used some of them in decorating this den. Having to relinquish them to the warlord would be an inconvenience.

Shallan's head dipped as she considered Fjä's questions and she wished her den mate hadn't put things quite that way. Then she gave a mental shrug.

"You ought to hear it, although I suppose you probably won't like what Blomkvist had to say. He says that technically your husband's possessions ought to go to his cubs, but since he had none, they revert to the warlord unless he made specific arrangements with a lawspeaker to dispose of them in another way."

She grimaced as she delivered this news, knowing it wasn't going to make Fjä happy. Like most people, Shallan didn't like to make delicate Fjä unhappy if she could avoid it, bad moods notwithstanding.

"I'm sorry. But, you know, Blomkvist is just a horrible gossip. It's not as if he's actually a lawspeaker. Maybe you should talk to one of them."

Fjä sighed. She had expected as much, but she would have liked to be wrong. Hearing Blomkvist's interpretation was good enough for her, even though he wasn't a lawspeaker, as Shallan had pointed out.

"No, that's all right. Perhaps if I don't mention it to anyone, the whole thing will be overlooked. After all, the warlord still hasn't said anything about it, and nobody's come around to ask about the things, right?"

She looked over at Shallan and giggled at the expression on her friend's face, which was partway between shock and skepticism.

"I can skirt laws. You aren't the only rebellious one in this den. I'm just not as...open about it." When Shallan's expression didn't soften she continued, "Really, it will be fine. I know it. This warlord's not the sort to want to take a widowed lioness's things just because convention dictates he should."

She hoped those wouldn't be her famous last words.