It goes on being adorable. "Sprinkles. Cran-apple. Rug."

These things would not combine into a pleasant beverage!

An Olympic vole would surely be interesting. He isn't sure how the goosedown plays into it. Perhaps the vole is a swimmer and needs to be dried off and snuggled back to comfortable warmth after a race.

"Yodel sprite. Being. Goat."

He giggles softly.

"Spandrel. Once upon a time."

"Yawn, jingle, aircraft carrier."

Steph walks along the back of the couch, climbs down onto the armrest, and curls up next to Sherlock's head.

"Stepladder," mumbles Bella. "Peanut. Perseid."

Also an intriguing combination.

"Bewilderment sandwich. Helicopter hatchling."

The one could certainly lead to the other.

"Hi," says Steph.

"How are you doing?"

"Not bad."

"That's good. Well, it's not bad, at least." Bella closes her eyes and chooses a pastwatching viewpoint from a moment ago above herself and Sherlock and Steph so she knows where it's safe to move, where she won't touch the glowing genet; and then she repositions.

Sherlock snuggles her. Steph continues to exist.

Snuggles. Existence. Both are good things. Bella mentally picks up her attempt to decipher the coy, oblique style of the author of the most recent demonology text she read.