Prequel: "The Harrows", a ghost story by Finn Slynt

 Old Finn’s Story to Roslynn: “The Harrows”

The prison was quiet except for the occasional dripping of water and the shuffling of guards outside. Finn sat on the cold stone floor, arms folded, back against the bars. The dim torchlight flickered, casting restless shadows over his face. He sighed, rubbing a calloused thumb over his knuckles before glancing at Roslynn.

“You ever hear about the Harrows?” he asked, voice low, as if someone else might be listening. “They say they whisper to you from the dark, call your name just quiet enough that you think it’s in your own head.” He smirked, but there was something wary in his expression, like a man who still checked under his bed after all these years.

He pulled a small pendant from under his collar, the worn metal glinting in the low light. He turned it over between his fingers, then tucked it away.

“Back when I was just a runt in the Shambles, my father Hessan disappeared.” He let that hang in the air for a moment, watching Roslynn’s reaction. “No one knew what happened to him. Some said he ran off with a fortune in stolen gold, left us behind like smoke in the wind. Others figured he crossed the wrong folk and got himself dumped in the harbor with his pockets full of rocks.”

Finn tapped his fingers against the floor. “But the neighbors, the old ones - they swore it was the Harrows. Said the tunnels beneath Nook were cursed, that something down there didn’t like people poking around. They whispered about smugglers and beggars who’d wandered too deep and never come back. Some of them kept iron under their pillows, others left salt by their doors.” 

“I was stubborn back then. Everyone was talkin’ about my father, and none of them knew. So, I decided I’d go down there myself. Find out what happened.” 

Old Finn leaned his head back against the prison bars, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. "See, when you grow up in the Shambles, you learn quick - there's what's true, and then there's what's useful to believe. And when you're ten years old, scared outta your wits but too stubborn to admit it, you take every bit of useful you can get."

He reached into his shirt again, fingers brushing the iron amulet at his chest. "If the old folk swore by cold iron and salt to keep the Harrows at bay, you need to pay attention. Now, I didn't know what I'd find down there in the tunnels, but I knew I wasn't about to face it empty-handed."

He gave Roslynn a pointed look. "So I took my father's iron, because iron holds the line. And I nicked a packet of salt from my ma's kitchen, because if the Harrows came whispering, I wanted something to throw in their damned faces."

Found my way into the smuggler tunnels near the riverside. Now, I’d played around those caves before, but we were never allowed to go in too deep. It got cold the further in I went, and the air started to feel thick, like I was breathing in something that didn’t want me there.”

He glanced at Roslynn, raising an eyebrow. “Then I heard them.”

A long pause.

“They don’t call to you like a man would. It’s more like a breath at the back of your neck, like someone whispering just out of earshot. Soft, scraping sounds on stone. I should’ve turned back, but I was my father’s son, wasn’t I?”

His smirk returned, but it was a ghost of itself.

“Then the damn screamer mushrooms started howling. Near jumped out of my skin.” He chuckled. “I bolted straight into a cavern, nearly dropped my torch. And that’s when I saw it.”

Finn tapped his temple. “Now, I know what I saw. Folk can say what they want, but it wasn’t a man. It was something else. Bigger than me by a mile, hunched, it appeared to be stitched together like someone had built it out of spare parts. Patches of fur, scaled skin, hands too long for its body, too many teeth in its mouth. And the smell - like wet stone and old blood.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “It wasn’t some restless spirit, but I’ll tell you, Ros, that didn’t make me feel any better about it.”

She didn’t interrupt. She was listening now, really listening. Her beady eyes watching Finn with intent.

Finn grinned. “So, there I was, a skinny little rat with nothing but a torch and an iron trinket against a monster in the dark. But I knew one thing - monsters are greedy.” He tilted his head. “I pulled out my Pa’s amulet and made sure it caught the light of the torch. The thing took one look at me, then at my neck.” He mimed a grasping motion. “It wanted my amulet. I knew if it got close enough, I’d never be fast enough to keep it.”

“So, I told it; I have more." And I pulled out my ma’s packet of salt. "Let me show you the good stuff." 

And as I pulled open the packet, as the thing leaned in, I threw the salt into its eyes and made a break for it.

Finn ran, heart hammering against his ribs. The tunnels twisted around him, unfamiliar in the flickering torchlight. Behind him, the mongrelman followed, its patchwork limbs scuttling over the rock with unnatural speed.

He clutched his father’s iron amulet as he ducked into a narrow passage. He had to think.

Then an idea sparked. As he sprinted forward, Finn ripped a copper button from his coat, rolling it between his fingers. If he did it just right. The passage suddenly widened into a low cavern, and Finn saw his chance. He faked a stumble, twisting his body as if he had just yanked the amulet from his neck and thrown it. The button flew through the air, spinning, gleaming - The mongrelman lunged.

Its clawed fingers snatched the button midair, triumph flashing in its sunken eyes. 

And then - a sickly pop.

The air surrounding the creature filled with a thick, choking cloud, and then - nothing. Silence. Like the whole world just stopped breathing.” He let that sit for a moment. “There he was - frozen, mid-step. Eyes wide, body locked up tight, like someone had pulled the strings from a puppet. A statue in a field of mushrooms”

Finn crouched, watching in stunned silence. He hadn’t done that. He hadn’t even touched it. Something shifted in the cavern beyond. A flicker of movement. Shuffling shadows. A presence just beyond the torchlight. 

Finn was certain he heard the Harrows start to whispers again.

He didn’t wait to see what it was. He ran back the way he had come. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw shadows surround the paralyzed creature.

Old Finn went quiet, lost in thought - his eyes focused on something far, far away. Then he snapped back, focused his eyes on Roslynn intently, tapped the side of his head.

“But I tell you, Ros - I still heard breathing. Even when I was back in the Shambles, even when I was safe in my bed. I heard breathing in the dark.” He glanced at her sideways, waiting. Then he grinned, nudging her with his finger. “Now, don’t go losing sleep over it, girl. The Harrows take their due, one way or another.”

He leaned his head back against the bars, closing his eyes.

“And that, Roslynn, is why you always carry iron.”

Prequel: “Freeday School Shenanigans: The Day Jonathan’s Goose Saved the Day (Inez's version)

Prequel:  “Freeday School Shenanigans: The Day Jonathan’s Goose Saved the Day (Inez's version)

Read Finn's version here...

Dear diary,

As it was Freeday I had to get out of bed early! While the rest of Nook was still sleeping, I took a bath in preparation of being made up by the maids. Then as the warpaint had been applied, I dressed myself in a (very!) decent dress and presented myself to my mother, who had to approve of my looks before I was allowed to leave for the so-called ‘The Free Library of Oghma’. 

If only it would have been a true library! Instead it was a weekly seminary in a small building next to the temple of Oghma. Some well-off families of all the three prevailing races (humans, dwarfs, gnomes) of Nook financed it and sent in their children. Which meant that I, as a to-be-bride of one of these gnome children, was sent there as well by my parents. Of course, I had to be properly dressed for the occasion, modest but stylish, as this was supposed to please both purse bearers, clerics, teachers and a god. So all buttons tight up and toned down makeup, not the glitter and metallic accents that made me shine on banquets. And certainly no showing of anything indecent!

Such hypocrites, as during working days they have me serve drinks to my father’s customers wearing dresses with ‘proper’ view of my chest. Especially when old Goldwhisk and his retinue was in, my father’s propositions needed visual support. Just before opening the door to the office for me, mother would eye me up and down as I was holding the tray with drinks, then undo the top buttons of my dress: “Without light, even the most beautiful diamond is just another stone!” Abusing the situation and this old Gnomish saying!  Oh diary, I learnt to maneuver through those ogling old men, keeping out of reach of hands. (After so many rounds of drinks my mother would send in Hazel or Zibella instead, and me to my room). 

Almost flattering and certainly amazing, was that me dishing out was appreciated not only by gnome clientele, but by dwarven (not that surprising), humans (a huge surprise, pun intended) and halflings (Too many surprises there!). 

Let’s return to today and the ‘Free Library’, dear diary. I always make sure to be early, to dodge bullies on the way in and to find a seat next to one more good-natured student, preferably of the same gender as me. As the offspring of the well-off had reserved places on the front ranks, and the rank of my family only granted that I was allowed in but not to pick a place until all of them were seated, that could not be guaranteed. Today I was in luck, as the place next to Thorga Deephelm was empty. She is a dwarven lady, from a prominent family, and we had come to an agreement: In exchange for me doing her assignments in class, she would escort me home safely. Very much to my advantage, as I learnt to write Dwarven runes well enough to fool our teachers into thinking that it was her work!

However, it turned out that I had cheered too early. At the end of the day’s classes, Thorga informed me that she would not be able to walk me home, as her family would pick her up directly after to visit another dwarven household. She was in the same circumstances as me, her short red blond beard was to be shown off in search for a proper suitor. Dear diary, I was not sure who I pitied most. Poor Thorga or myself, as I had both annoyed teachers and classmates with my wit, being confident that a dwarven bodyguard would be at my disposal. Things were looking grim...

As the lessons ended, we were sent out to the schoolyard, where I tried to make a run for it, but it was to no avail. Thrainna Stonebrow, the dwarven opposite of Thorga, stood before me, blocking the way to the gates! And when there’s one, there are three: Her friends Pipka and Trixie were standing beside her. Our local chimera had found me! An odd chimera, as each of its heads was half a feet higher: a halfling one, a gnome one and a dwarven one.

As always, Pipka Quickwit took the lead. A vagrant halfling from the Slynt clan, she ruled the schoolyard like a queen bee. “Hey, why are you leaving so soon, book girl? Do you need to bring your father his booze?” I fumed, as her taunt had too much truth in it. And there was not much I could do about it, even in an honest fight I would have been bested. “I think he can wait a bit, why don't you hang around a bit with your friends.” “Well Pipka, as long as he does not drink at your mother’s place there’s not much harm in it!” I heard myself say, overstepping, and enraging the girl. ‘Spicing up a fizzing potion.’ my mother would have said, my dear diary, a small reminder of her clan roots.  “Oh, please, you ink-blooded weasel!” Pipka erupted, spitting at me both verbally and literally. “You could prance around in silks and perfume all you want, and you’d still look like a painted-up mushroom cap with legs. Do you really think anyone’s looking at you like that? Even the drunkest dwarf in the tavern would take one glance and choose his own hand instead. Face it—you’re not charming, you’re not alluring, you’re just there, like a wobbling little toad that won’t stop croaking.”  With that the third one, Trixie Rattlecog, a proud member of the Fizzlebang Clan (As such a thing is possible), joined in: “Yes you succubus! You think you can steal Peredrin from me!”. 

Dear diary, I was as confused as you are! Peredrin? Peredrin Varnabus Evergleam? For two weekends in a row I had spent my Freeday afternoon with this high-class gnome youngling. The two of us sitting separately at our own table, but always within sight of the families. Bored me to death, as he kept on rambling about his collection of clockworks and watches - not having a clue about their inner workings or magical components, what could have been interesting, no no, just about their value and their ornamentation of rare metals and gemstones. After some unsuccessful attempts to change the subject, I gave up and faked some mild interest, keeping up appearances. In his defense (or did this make him even worse?): He did not once try to peek inside my low-cut garment. Exactly what my parents were looking for: A young, well-educated gnome whose family see me as a ‘stabilizing influence’ and an asset to their intellectual lineage. ‘Stabilising influence’, dear diary, if only they knew of my nightly studies in wizardry!

“Peredrin can talk of nothing else about how nice you are! And how good this or that watch would look on you! And I see what you’re doing—batting those little beady eyes, fussing over your ridiculous curls, like some desperate tavern wench who thinks she can flirt her way out of being forgettable. Hate to break it to you, but no matter how much you prance and preen, you’ll always just be a squat little sideshow act.” Trixie was still rattling, this time she was really, really upset with me!

“And the only thing you stick your head in are books!” Then she  reached out and got hold of my schoolbook!  The moment I stepped forward to seize it back, Thrainna pushed me back, and despite I succeeded in keeping upright, hitting the wall was still painful. If only Thorga was here! But, dear diary, I had to face this threat alone. Not much hope for support, as we were in a quiet corner of the yard and mostly surrounded by great folk, who would look at us and consider it child's play! Look at those little gnomes playing together. Well look how nice that one makes confetti out of that schoolbook...

Miraculously help was under way in the most unexpected form! Jonathan, a halfling who I knew only because he delivered vegetables to our cooks every now and then, stepped in. He just walked up to them and proclaimed: “Maybe, um… maybe you should leave her alone?” I mean, pickin’ on people isn’t very nice. Chislev teaches that, uh, we should be kind to all livin’ things.” mThe three vixens were completely baffled at first, until they realized that this guy was no match for them. Trixie dropped my book and turned to face the newcomer and the other two girls followed her example, encircling the priest. “Aww, look, it’s the little farmer boy come to rescue the gnome!” Pipka sneered: “You gonna read us a bedtime story, too?” added Trixie snickering. Even Thrainna  managed to add a little insult: “Or are you just gonna trip over your own feet again?” Not very creative, as Jonathan was known for his peculiar way of walking. Meanwhile I had picked up the book and was considering my next move. Running would be wise, however I felt I could not leave my aegis to face this group alone. 

Turned out he was not alone! A strange deep ‘honk’ sounded followed by the sound of flapping wings. The giant goose that often was seen following the halfling around town, had taken off and was now diving in on us! Fortunately I was not her target, but Pipka was. At the last possible moment the bird changed course into a steep climb, missing us with its body, but hitting Pipka straight in the face with goose droppings. Oh sweet diary, such delicate droppings it were! It was like the great Roc had released itself on the spot!

Pipka's upper body and face were covered with manure! Friendly Thrainna started to wipe it away, only to be rewarded by the embarrassed and angry halfling with a handful in her face. The chimera fell apart as Trixie beat a hasty retreat, the other two heads of the monster following in her path. As I watched them leave and heard Jonathan stammering excuses to the girls, commands to the goose and prayers to goddess Chislev, I started laughing. First a modest giggle, then breaking up, bursting into an unbridled laughter.

Catching my breath I looked up to find the schoolyard mostly deserted. All of the small folk had gone,ran off to spread the incredible story of the goose that beat the chimera. Some humans and dwarves had remained not paying attention anymore to the aftermath of this battle. Turning round I searched for the two heroes, finding them in animated discussion, if a halfling and a goose could be. 

I walked over and introduced myself (to the halfling, not to the goose). The conversation that unfolded was as strange as the one Jonathan had before with the goose. As I tried to make clear that I was very grateful for saving me, he was apologising for the behaviour of Gertrude (the goose), his failure to bring peace, his ambition to become a priest of Chislev. Personally I was getting a bit annoyed by his failure to notice a not that bad looking gnome lady standing in front of him. Then an inkling came over me, dear diary, which I couldn't stop. Lying a finger on his mouth, I ended his preaching. Then, before he could react, I kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, my priest and saviour” was what I whispered in his ear, followed by a hasty retreat, leaving him and the goose behind.

And that, my dear diary, was how a goose saved my day (and  I kissed a halfling in public!)

Prequel: Finn’s First Stint: The Teachings of Old Grint

Prequel: Finn’s First Stint: The Teachings of Old Grint

The mess hall was its usual stew of sweat, smoke, and unwashed bodies.

Finn sat in his spot, tearing off a piece of stale bread and dunking it into a bowl of gray slop. It was better not to think too hard about what was in it. Across the hall, a scrawny human kid — maybe sixteen, still growing into his bones — was backed into a corner by a squat, frog—faced brute. A bullywug.
Finn watched as the warty bastard patted the kid down, webbed fingers searching for anything worth taking. The boy didn’t fight back. Just stared at the ground and took it.
Finn exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Never changes, does it?” he muttered, scratching Roslynn’s chin as she poked her head out of his coat pocket.

The rat twitched her whiskers.

He leaned back, rolling a piece of bread between his fingers as the memories crept in. Finn smirked. “This lot thinks they invented the game.” He nodded toward the scene across the hall. “Same old story. The weak get picked apart. The strong keep taking. Reminds me of my first run in a place like this.”

His fingers absently brushed over Roslynn’s fur as he let himself slip back into the past.

It always started with Old Grint.

Grint Thornedyke — grizzled, limping, and pious as a priest to anyone who didn’t know better. To the city, he was a saint, taking in wayward children and offering them food, shelter, and guidance. But behind closed doors, the orphanage was a factory, and he was the master craftsman. He took in the unwanted, the discarded — kids with nowhere else to go. Then he shaped them into tools. Pickpockets. Burglars. Lockpickers. Cutpurses. If you were nimble — fingered, you were trained for subtlety. If you were strong, you were trained to break noses. And if you had nothing but fear in your belly, well — Grint made sure you learned to use that, too.

Finn had arrived at Old Grint’s in his early teens, just after his pop had died. His ma, lost in grief, had turned to Auntie Greer’s mushroom Foofoo dust for comfort, leaving Finn to the mercy of Nook’s streets. Auntie Greer Slynt had arranged his placement with Grint, though Finn never knew what bargain had been struck. Ma had cost the Slynt family a lot of money when she had let it spill that the cock fights the Slynts organized were staged. Maybe Finn’s exile was his punishment for her sins.

What mattered was that, in Grint’s care, mercy was a luxury.
“You think the world owes you something, boy?”

Finn still remembered the way Grint’s voice cut through the cold air of the orphanage’s back room. The Firbolg’s towering frame leaned heavily on his iron cane, his weathered smile never quite reaching his eyes.

“It doesn’t,” Grint continued. “You take what you can, while you can, and you leave the rest to the fools who think the law will save them.”

Finn learned quick; he became one of the orphanage’s twitchers. He could lift a coin purse when a mark was distracted, cut a satchel strap in a blink. He thought that was enough to stay in Old Grint’s good graces. Then he had a bad run. Three days. No good marks. Came back empty handed. Grint didn’t yell. Didn’t even look angry. It was just time to give Finn a life lesson as only Grint could teach it.
He had Calder drag him into the cellar and shove him into a cage. Finn had just started demanding to be let out when they threw Kip in with him. His stomach sank.

“See, Ros,” he muttered. “That’s when I got the real lesson.”

Grint crouched in front of the cage, tapping his iron cane against the bars. “See, boy,” he said, voice smooth and even. “It ain’t just about you. You fail, your friends suffer. That’s how the world works.” And with that, he left. Finn went to sleep hungry that night. So did Kip.
By the second day, hunger was a living thing, twisting inside Finn’s gut. Kip had it worse — smaller than Finn, already rail—thin to begin with.

Then the cage door swung open.

Finn barely managed to get to his feet. Grint watched him, hands folded over his cane.
“Go get something to eat, Finn” he said mildly. “Out there, the world is your kitchen.” Pointing to beyond the door. “But we have no place for the weak, you no longer welcome in this house. You want your friend to eat? Well, you’re going to have to show us you have what it takes, because we are not letting you back in here.”

“Yeah, Ros,” he muttered, running a thumb along the table. “You can imagine how that went.”

Getting food in Nook wasn’t an issue, getting past the ready waiting enforcers was impossible in the creaky old orphanage. Every time they’d catch Finn, eat the food he’d brought and give him a beating for good measure. Three days of this. By the end, Kip was so weak he could barely sit up. That’s when Grint let him out. Not because he had a heart. Because he knew we’d learned.

“Willa had to take care of us for a week after that, we were both a mess. “

That should’ve been the end of it. But Grint had one more lesson. “Kindness makes you weak.” Finn swallowed, tapping his spoon against the edge of the bowl.

“That’s the one that really sticks, Ros.” He scoffed. “You ever notice how people don’t like being reminded that they’ve got hearts?”

“That old bastard Grint may have had a predatory instinct to sniff out the kind—hearted. I don’t know, maybe he just had eyes everywhere.” Finn subconsciously touched his iron amulet. “The coincidence of it all always seemed too great! Just like he knew.”

Coming back from an errant in the Shambles, the Slynt family’s caravan park at the edge of Nook, Finn liked to pass through the old neighborhood around the old Temple of Oghma. He enjoyed the quiet and peacefulness; there was always noise in the orphanage. One day he’d came across a redheaded gnome girl crying, trying to pick herself off from the floor. Her books scattered around her. Her hair had been pulled from her braid and she looked like she’d been slapped with an open hand. Finn had gotten good at spotting those type of marks; he had seen them in the mirror.

In the distance three other girls were walking off, two of the small folk and one build like an ox with a five o’clock shadow on her cheeks. Typical Dwarf girl.
“They have it out for ya?”, Finn asked. “Hmm, you should hide next time. If you can’t; either make sure you have something to beat them back or get someone else to do it for ya. That’s all there is you can do.”

They chatted and despite their differences, Finn took a liking to this upper-class girl who normally would have been a mark for him. He had noted her fine clothing, jewelry, and expensive contents of her backpack, but felt bad for her and didn’t want to pile more misery onto her. He said his goodbyes and left but couldn’t shake the feeling there was something amiss.

As it was Freeday; Old Grint went to attend a church-service like he did every Freeday. He typically attended service with most children to present the idea that they were all there. But a few kids were assigned marks in Nook, usually houses from people attending the church-service as well. Finn was assigned a house and breaking in was kid’s play. But as he stalked through the house, he realized whom the owner of the house was. It was a widow, a friendly Dwarf lady who always had a kind word for him. Someone who had taken pity on him at the festival of Saint Morrin, the lantern Bearer. Finn had stood at the edge of the crowd, stomach hollow as other people feasted. The scent of roasted nuts and spiced cider curled through the air, warm and rich, but it did nothing to fill his stomach. The old lady had spotted him and given him a candied apple, her cup of spiced cider and a few kind words. He never had had such a treat and would never forget that moment.

And just like that, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take from someone who had treated him with such kindness. So he turned away.

And Calder was waiting. Finn didn’t even make it back inside before the beating started.
Fists and boots rained down. When they dragged him in front of Grint, Finn barely had the strength to lift his head.

“You think the world owes you something, boy?” Grint’s voice was mild. Like he was correcting a child’s manners. “It doesn’t.”

Finn spat blood onto the floor. Grint leaned on his cane. “You take what you can, while you can,” he said. “And you leave the rest to the fools who think the law will save them.”
Finn knew what came next. Grint wasn’t going to punish him. He was going to punish someone else. Kip. Willa. Finn had failed, and now they were going to suffer for it.

But it didn’t come as expected. The next night, Finn did what he was told. Calder knocked down a man in the middle of the street, hit him over the head with a cudgel. Finn lifted the coin purse off the prone man. Didn’t hesitate this time. But something was wrong. Too quiet. Then he saw Calder. Standing in the alleyway. Smirking.

Finn didn’t even have time to run before the City Guard was on him. Felt rough hands grab him, twisting his arms behind his back. The world spun as they threw him onto the cobblestones. A rough voice barked orders. Calder just whistled and walked away.
It was a setup.

The only mercy was that the magistrate took one look at Finn — small, underfed, and unlucky — and decided he wasn’t worth a long sentence.

Just a year.

A year to learn exactly what Old Grint had been trying to teach him all along.
Prison was a different kind of orphanage.

The rules were the same. The strong took from the weak. The weak either learned to survive, or they didn’t. Finn, being small and new, was an easy target.
The first few weeks were the worst. He was singled out for his food, pushed into “chores” he didn’t want to do, knocked around by prisoners who wanted to prove a point.

But he wasn’t entirely alone.

Old Wren, a wiry half — orc with a scarred face, took an interest in him. Not out of kindness, but because Finn amused him. “You got some fight in you,” Wren had said, after Finn had tried (and failed) to hold his ground against a gang of older inmates. “You just don’t know where to put it yet.” Wren taught him a few things — how to keep his head down when he needed to, how to stand his ground when he had no other choice. How to hide a shiv in plain sight. And so Finn survived. By the time his year was up, he wasn’t the same kid who had been dragged in.

When he got out, Old Grint was gone. The City Guard had raided the orphanage.

Grint had gotten greedy — overextended himself, sent his orphans into the wrong houses. When the rich started to complain, the guard followed the trail straight to the orphanage. They found everything. The stolen goods, the records, the hidden caches of coin.
Grint, of course, was nowhere to be found. Calder had gone with him.

Willa and Kip — somehow, they had slipped through the cracks. Finn found them in a ramshackle house at the edge of Nook. Kip and Willa had built something for themselves — something that wasn’t just survival, something real. And when Finn showed up, thinner, harder, and carrying the weight of a year inside, they didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t need to. They just let him in. No questions. No debts. Just home.

Back in the present, Finn blinked, shaking himself free of the past. The mess hall was still buzzing. The young prisoner had disappeared. Maybe he’d gotten away. Maybe he hadn’t. Didn’t matter.

Finn glanced down at Roslynn, whose small black eyes gleamed up at him.“You ever think about how lucky you are?” he muttered. “Whole world’s a cage, but you — “he poked at her nose “— you get to ride around in my pocket, eat what you want, never owe nobody nothing.”

Roslynn twitched her whiskers.

Finn smirked, shaking his head.

“Wish I could say the same.”