Luna came out of Victor's doorway with one hand wrapped around Frost's. They rolled off the blue quilt into the grass below the wheel, still wearing the grins they'd got from Colt's picture book. The roof of his little room was level. The patch of road where their father could safely let them out had a slope. As far as the cubs were concerned, a ride down that last foot of hill had come free with the price of a story.
"Dad, we waited till you said," Luna called, which was true. Behind her Colt had his hand out where he'd tried to catch the blanket. One of the children's heels had hooked its end under them as they got up. He'd caught the picture book with the other hand, lost it when he reached for Frost, and got as tangled as either of them with one leg in a splint. He looked considerably less pleased than the children about where everybody had landed.
