“Finally, a bit of luck. Rat bastard,' I hissed down at Montmartre. 'Mangy dog of a scurvy goat.''That doesn’t even make sense,' Isabeau murmured.'Feels good though. Try it.'She narrowed her eyes at the top of Montmartre’s perfectly groomed hair. 'Balding donkey’s ass.''Nice.''Sniveling flea-bitten rabid monkey droppings.''Clearly, you’re a natural.”

“Ook, though very clever, was the worst fighter in the tribe. That is how he ended up with Grot-Grot as his woman. Grot-Grot had a bald patch on the top of her head, she was missing an eye and she smelled like a dead skunk. She did have a good sense of humour though.”

“You try to leave and I will hunt you down."Relief poured through her, but she smacked at his thigh with the back of her brush. "Like a rabid dog? Very romantic.”

“It's a good thing you're an aging orphan," he murmured, gently pushing the hair away from her face. "I don't have to wait around to get anyone's permission.""Permission for what, you rat bastard?" she said. "Such language, dragon. I'm afraid you're going to have to marry me.”

“I sit on the couch watching her arrangeher long red hair before my bedroommirror.she pulls her hair up andpiles it on top of her head-she lets her eyes look atmy eyes-then she drops her hair andlets it fall down in front of her face.we go to bed and I hold herspeechlessly from the backmy arm around her neckI touch her wrists and handsfeel up toher elbowsno further.”

“She scolded him with fire in her eyes, feeling where he was going, feeling as if she was stabbed in the heart. “I wasn’t saying it was bad. Different doesn’t mean bad. In fact, I think you are so . . . beautiful! What you say . . . it makes sense to me in ways I can’t even understand.”