“As long as the weans don’t outnumber the animals, mind,” Conall put in, in a mock-grumbling tone. As if she’d ever forget her calling in the midst of motherhood. Not that she could, exactly, when Miller was still a magizoologist too. (A small saving grace of her marriage, he supposed.)

He wasn’t sure how she could tell, but he considered the notion anyway in case this babe was indeed a boy. “A whole different kettle of fish, sure,” he agreed with a high-eyebrowed look. He gave an exaggerated shrug too, as if to say you’re on your own with that. “I’ve got nothing for you there.” No advice when it came to raising sons or raising a whole barnful of children, maybe – but all the same, he was looking forward to seeing it from the sidelines.

Perhaps that was a good enough excuse to stay closer to home (well, Irvingly, not home; no need to get sentimental) for a while, too?

---