Setri picked up the cub and made eye contact. For a moment, there was no one else in the world but herself and the cat. Then she gently set the animal down and smiled, just a little, at the two reclining Panthers, “Shakira is ok. She likes the sound of her name. I like the sound too. Thank you.”
Hunter and Chartreuse sat staring at the girl. She’d never addressed them directly. Her English was much better than Clara had made it out to be.
“Welcome to the Green Panthers, kid,” Hunter finally laughed and stopped himself throwing a can of beer at the girl.
“I guess you don’t drink?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, pulling at her shirt, never letting Shakira out of her sight, “I’m only fourteen.”
Hunter stashed the can under his lounger.
“What are the Green Panthers?” Setri asked.
“We are
