Donnar was watching the incident with a slightly amused look on his face. “She probably is back in the caverns.”

“How?” Soren growled.

The svartelf gave a very dainty shrug for a creature who literally had no skin on his entire back half and shoulders. “Magic, most likely.”

Soren still had one of those I’m about to murder literally everybody looks on his face. I sighed and decided to step in.

Taking a look around, my eyebrows shot up to my hairline. There were a few cracks in the walls and the giant gash in the floor from where Soren challenged Lydian before the Hunt had grown wider. A few chairs were knocked over, and standing a bit behind Soren, I could see a very exasperated Satu.

“So, is anyone going to tell me what exactly happened here?” I asked.

Soren looked up at me, having the decency to at least act a little sheepish. “There was a fight.”

“I can see that.”

“Soren attacked my mate,” Donnar said.

There was a pregnant pause before I frowned. “I thought Tibra was your sister?”

Donnar shrugged once more. “Mate, sister, same thing.”

Soren and I glanced at each other, then to Satu, then back at each other. Even without the connection from the stag, Soren’s see what I mean was palpable. I resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose to fight off the headache that was sure to come. Being the stag had its ups and downs. On one hand, I was one of the most powerful creatures in existence despite not knowing exactly how to tap into that power; on the other hand, I had to deal with svartelves.

No matter what creature you were in the Permafrost, there was one main consensus when it came to svartelves that could be summarized in a word: nope.

“Why exactly did you attack Tibra, Soren?” I asked. Honestly, even if it was something like an out-of-place comment on his appearance, I didn’t really begrudge Soren. I kind of wished I could pummel Tibra too. And Donnar. Really, any of them. Every time I met a svartelf, I left the meeting questioning my own sanity.

“She doesn’t understand the concept of inappropriate touching,” Soren explained. Before I had a chance to be outraged at the idea of Tibra touching Soren somewhere off-limits, he explained. “And by that, I mean she kept pulling on my braid. Like a child.”

“Well,” Donnar said, his tail twitching. “She is one.”

Mate, sister, and child? “Donnar, you’re really not helping,” I said. “I can’t believe I actually have to mediate this. Are you two children? Donnar, Tibra shouldn’t be pulling Soren’s hair. Soren, you cannot murder someone for pulling your hair.” I wanted to pull my hair. Turning away from the sheepish looking svartelf and goblin, I nodded a greeting to Satu.