"I am not." She says as she props her cheek on her hand, warmth coloring her eyes and her voice, a gentle finger crooking under Purrelden's chin. Even as she pulls a bit of dried salmon from her belt pouch (a frequent, favored treat) and sets out scraps for both kittens. She is not in love with Remi, not at all.

She is fond.

She is responsible.

But little more.

"He goes to whoever gives him fish."