“Alright,” Endymion said, with a shrug in his defence. “I don’t know, I wasn’t even here.” And, he did not protest aloud, sure it would only incense his mother’s mood, he was probably one of her only children who appreciated the gardens, appreciated her flowers, enough not to dare damaging them. Intentionally.

“Oz is a giant, he probably got in the way,” he posed instead, and then shot a plaintive look at Lycoris to get her back for lumping him in it with her rational comments and whatnot. “Or did you do any painting outside yesterday?”

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