Pi’ o’ the li’er,′ he said and for a moment Will frowned, trying to decipher the words. Then he had it. When he had left Shadow with Trobar, he had told the giant, ‘If she ever has pups, I want the pick of the litter.’ ‘Pick of the litter?’ he translated now and Trobar beamed, holding the little, squirming shape out to him. ‘For you, Wi’ Trea’y.
-John Flanagan
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