Emil has been at the festival all day, and if he had a colle for every time someone said, 'Excuse me, Sir?' in his vicinity, he would be renting his own shop stall by now. He tunes out the words, and his tosker carrier doesn’t even stir from where he’s wrapped around Emil’s shoulders.

But a moment later, the tosker raises his head and his tail bristles out like a bottle brush. Feeling the fur tickle his neck, Emil reaches up to soothe him, only to find empty air as the carrier springs from his shoulders. "Pomelii?" He sits up and pauses when he hears squeaking nearby. Not Pomelii's voice.

Loud, frustrated chattering responds from behind him. That would be Pomelii. Emil looks around – when did it get so dark? – to locate both his carrier and the other animal before trouble can develop. Peering into the tangle of branches, he can see what appears to be a squirrel? Another tosker? It's hard to tell. He leans forward to get a better look.