Stuck in this damn castle listening to a bunch of overdressed humans argue about grain taxes for six hours. My patience is wearing thinner than a whore's dress. I’d rather be back in the Labruscum Jungle, tracking a shadow-cat through the mud. At least out there, the only thing that screams is the prey when you sink your teeth in. The air here smells like old parchment and cowardice. Makes my skin itch. I need to hit something, or someone, hard enough to leave a dent. If my prince doesn’t stop looking at me like a frightened rabbit when I walk by, I’m going to throw him over my shoulder, haul him out to the training yard, and use his pretty face to break my fall. Might as well make use of him if diplomacy is going to be this boring. 🤬💢