Galahad stares around in wonder, his blue eyes huge. He'd imagined Mothwing's den, but this is far more wonderful than he'd imagined; it seems both huge and cozy, with all the room it needs for all her things but easy to curl up in and sleep securely. Some of the hung herbs are ones he not only recognizes but remembers gathering for her, and he feels a soaring sense of pride that she has them, even though there's no reason she wouldn't.

Then his restless, wriggling body takes over, and he bounces around the den, chasing the light reflecting off a pebble, batting a feather, sniffing the herbs.

"It's wonderful!"