Evander’s mind was far away, much as he was trying to pay attention both to his wife and to the flowers. He supposed the important fact was that Caroline was evidently trying – she had her arms in his – but it felt altogether like this was something they only did when there was an audience, like her choosing the new dress for today. Things didn’t feel quite the same when they were at home, somehow; Evander couldn’t fathom why, but he had the strange suspicion she had pulled away. An inevitability, perhaps: he could not have expected her to stay the way she had been on their honeymoon or in the early days of their courtship after almost two years of marriage.

(For his part, he didn’t think he had changed in the least, so he didn’t know what had.)

In any case, the sight of frogs perching on the flowers did not compel him much, though he looked dutifully in that direction; so dutifully that he was not expecting the sharp bite at his heel. Evander lurched onto his other foot, lifting that one out of the way, but managed to kick another of the gnomes in the process – and was thrown flat backwards onto the path, the gnomes grabbing greedily at him from all sides. “Augh! Augh!” he grunted, trying to swat the surrounding horde away without much luck. For Merlin’s sake. There were enough of them to lift him off the ground if they wanted, as if they would carry him off to their burrows like a parade of ants.

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