“It’s going to be a cold night.”

“Hmph, we’ll be alright.”

“Easy for you to say. We don’t all have your…girth.”

“The cabin’s not much, but we patched the holes didn’t we? Besides, you’ve got your fur, doncha’. Get the fire stoked, and the embers will hold us through ‘til dawn.”

“Stoke the fire, eh? And what of our friends the villagers?”

“Seen one round noonish. Scared ‘im off well enough.”

“Marigold won’t like your use of scarin’. We’ll need to make commerce with ‘em eventually.”

“Ha, with them? They’d no sooner spit on us than make commerce.”

“We’ve got to try, Horrace, for the child’s sake.”

“Aye…the child, our angel cast down to dwell with us devils.”

“Keily’s got the kettle on. ‘Spose we should head in, out of this cold.”

“I’ll be in shortly, Goodwick. Ye know I’m not one for company.”

“Even ours, old friend?”

“Even yours.”

“Alright then, ‘spose I’ll be off…only, well…just to say, I mean, Happy Christmas, eh, Horrace?”

“Hmph, Happy Christmas.”