“What’s that thing some of you rifters say— I contain multitudes,” Astrid announces, a little proud to have remembered the turn of phrase. “Well, that and I was planning on training her a bit anyway, so when Benedict announced this party, why not.”

Clarisse’s clarion whistle cuts right through the distant music and Potato starts to scramble off Astrid, although she accidentally still leaves some of her haunches draped over the woman. This, too, is familiar: some of the hounds back home absolutely didn’t remember how big they were when they were no longer puppies, and that had been nice. Gathering some warmth in the winter months, each furry companion like a walking radiator.

“You’re good with them,” she points out, noting how Potato perks up with recognition at Clarisse’s presence. (Not Ellie, but as good as—) “I’ll have to learn how to do that whistle.”