That small smile serves to pluck at the corner of her own mouth, but before it can bloom too near to maturity she flattens it with an inauthentic scoff. When allowed the opportunity, Wysteria slips a hand free and pinches his bristling cheek.

"Only if you promise not to dawdle. You might think, given the great length of your legs, that you would be less easy to outpaced."

Which is as settled at the matter is likely to ever be. And so her mittens and scarf and hat are donned once more and the folio with its prodigious collection of papers is fetched up and stuffed under an arm. In the house's grand tradition of unfinished work, the pot of honey wax is forgotten entirely. It is left where at the center of the table when they go.