“Awwww, I thought you wanted to spar,” Nora pouts, but lowers her hammer. Nevermind that this kid is maybe eleven at most and even if he was a Huntsman-in-training that wouldn’t be a fair fight.

Planting Magnhild’s handle against the ground like a walking stick, she bends down and looks at the Wurmple, then over her shoulder at Pak.

“Do you wanna spar, Pak?”

The Slakoth cracks open an eye, yawns, then nuzzles his face back into the loop of his arms around Nora’s neck and returns to sleep. Guess not.