Betwixt the two of them, they lick the platter clean, snapping and whining for more even after Kora pulls it away. “That’s enough!” she says. Monday looks sullen; Friday pants with undimmed hope. (Wednesday looks aloof, of course. He long ago figured out that she could let the other two heads eat for him.)
“It’s time for walksies anyway,” Kora says, and before she’s finished undoing the leash they’re dragging her off through the stalagmite maze; little ghosts mewl and scatter out of their way. At least they haven’t eaten me yet, she thinks grimly. At least there is still that.