( Well, she ought to have made a prettier work of the pancake, on second thought, and a long, heavy gaze only lands the conclusion — she should, next time, oh, she'll make a star of it, or a little... circle, and they'll call it a moon. Circles are easy, only a drop of the ladle, and then, who's to say?

Good boy, sat to eat his fare. Another pat on his shoulder, and this should be the invitation, Eat up. )

Don't be getting all the news, us, all from up there'n'we down here... and I'd gone already, you see, would've been years before that, I sauntered down. ( One is not born to the Mouse House, after all. ) Wasn't pretty, now was it? Weapons, and... fires and... bit of a skirmish, everywhere.

( An awkward cough, long. ) But they've sorted themselves out since, they're nice and quiet, except for the not bearing so much as to spit on each other's faces. If they didn't need to mine the same holes, them, they'd have left, no doubt in me for that. But none's giving up riches below. So they just... live with each other. Told you, didn't I? Like them's in a married arrangement.

( Daily quakes are broad inconvenience, but what can you do. ) But, well. It's no... no talk for your breakfast, you'll take sick with it, poppy, my poppet. And you need your strength, now don't you?