A flicker of humor for that begrudging acquiescence. Around them the heave and scrape of boxes being loaded aboard the ship and the lap of waves and bustle of preparation are a clear reminder: she is leaving and the house will be empty and all their conversation will be passed back and forth by letter, rather than in her little kitchen or the garden or over supper.

Ellis takes her hand in his own, laces their fingers together beneath his palm so he might guide her along Ruadh's great square head, obligingly lifted in expectation.

There is a knot of scar tissue here. A raised slash of a knife strike there. A cluster of punctures, perhaps from teeth, further along. And, just behind the cropped rise of Ruadh's ears—

"Here," Ellis tells her, as he presses Wysteria's fingers into place and Ruadh's nub of a tail wags encouragingly. "Right here."