When Galahad was a child in the nunnery, as he's said, he used to pray for a kitten. What he didn't say is that he remembers exactly what it like, lying awake in his cot at the nunnery, shivering under his thin blanket (he was already prone to getting easily chilled), asking silently Please let the kitten find me. Please. He could imagine the sound of its tiny meows, how he would jump up from his cot and find a white kitten, no bigger than a roll, as lonely and cold as he was. He imagined scooping it up in his arms, and the heat of its body warming all the cold out of his hands. He would hold it to his heart and feel it purring.

That never happened. But now Regina is curled up on his lap, her raspy tongue licking his fingers, and he feels warm all the way through.