Pity Pudding

“They’re thieves,” Rach growls.

“And weasels!” That’s about Felicia’s crudest insult to date, and I pat her shoulder, grinning.

Aries’ second – a tall woman with a tattooed face – arches her eyebrows. “I’m confused. Are they goblins or weasels?”

“Goblins.” I cross my arms impatiently. “So? Have you seen them?”

“I hate to cause you sorrow, Maya, but we have not.” Aries inches closer. “May I suggest a visit to our encampment? We have pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“Aye. Dark chocolate from the Green Isle.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Pudding sounds lovely,” Vera cuts in. “And a bath. Unless you enjoy being filthy?”