Arvin grinned broadly at his uncle — the dearly loved grouch who'd helped raise him. Brannon often had another hint of a crowsfoot or wisp of grey hair every time Arven saw him, but he seemed well and in good form, ever a fit and fitting patriarch.

But then Brannon's face fell at the sight of Virgil, and his grown-up children exchanged startled glances behind him. "Not to worry, beloved family", Arven reassured them with a gruff brightness, "he's harmless, clean, and really very cuddly. What do you think, Roslyn?" he held out the soft ferret to his cousin, making no move to force the ferret on her but very much offering. Virgil looked at her curiously with large brown eyes.