Mordred is sitting on the doorstep in the late afternoon sun, peeling last year's potatoes and occasionally cursing when his fingers slip. Fortunately he's almost done, having sustained only glancing injury.

So, having run the gauntlet of alarming relatives, maudlin ex-lovers and ridiculous friends, Mordred eventually turns up at Cywyllog's door with two oddly-dressed children in tow.

Poll Postcards from Westmark

With less than a week to departure, Mordred makes the short trek up to the Mansion to say his goodbyes -- the theory being that, once he's done that, circumstances won't have the unmitigated gall to delay him yet again.

He's chiefly seeking his wife and his friend, but anyone else with an interest is welcome to waylay him.

( D&D quiz )

Back inside the house, in the candlelit bedroom, Mordred says shortly, "Don't open the window."

( everybody's doing it-- )

continued

Mordred settles Sagramore against the pillow, and sinks down on the edge of the bed. He's still bloody, speckled with bits of dead grass. "God."

( I don't want a little brother. )

JESUS.

Fuckin' snakes.