M had come to the end of her fruit salad. This left her with nothing for it but to start nibbling at the terribly healthy sandwich on the plate, one of those sad vegetarian concoctions that attempts to pass off shaved eggplant as meat.

(On an entirely personal and private level, M resolved to arrive early, and claim herself a proper sandwich by force, if necessary.)

Outwardly, she chuffed a laugh, memories of a conversation in the chapel returned to her as she summed up that "It sounds as though we're in the centre of some mystical menagerie. And we are not the lions."

There was a pause, while she considered the eggplant-infested sandwich, and then favoured Sam with a flicker of an eyebrow from across it. "On the up side of the matter, mice can get into much more interesting space."