“His mum had loved her ornaments, as she called them, but when she died, his dad waited about a week before boxing them up and giving them to a charity shop. “I loved your mum, Quinton,” he’d said, “but I hate them fuckin’ porcelaincats.”

“Her tone held a challenge. She did not need his condemnation or what his pity. Once, she had wanted his love, but that time had passed into dust. There was no point wanting things that could never be.”

“A pang filled her chest at his absence, especially so soon after having decided she loved him. With a shake of her head, she chastised herself for acting like such a girl and got dressed.”

“He wouldn't have to search for her long. She was nestled in his thoughts like a pebble in his shoe. His mind pointed toward her as if she were true north.”

“Although she had a slight build, Eilidh was solid and heavier than she first appeared. Rather than throw her over his shoulder, he tried to carry her as though propping up a drunken friend. People would accept the latter without question, but a burly guy carrying a woman fireman-style? That might draw second looks.”

“She hadn’t planned any of this, but her thoughts ran away with her, and she hated how pathetic she must sound. Poor little human needed the big bad angel to rescue her. Yuck.”

“When I was her age," Munro said to Eilidh, "I was chasing frogs."Oron Chuckled. "When I was your age, I was chasing frogs. Come. We have things to discuss.”