Mone Delmont

Sola cast a sideways glance and frowned at the floating wolf head.

“Must be hard, being such a crude creature,” she folded her arms. “Don’t you ever feel lonely?”

Lonely? What’s that?” the wolf countered.

Sola puffed her cheeks and thought. Her long golden hair softly swayed as if she was underwater, as if there was a soft breeze.

“Lonely is wanting to play with someone but not having any friends.” She brushed a strand away from her face and added, “Or when you want someone to skip Sunday chores with.”

But why would you want to feel lonely, then?” the wolf asked. Sola eyed it for a long second and couldn’t tell if it was being sarcastic, rhetorical, or was indeed genuinely oblivious.

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