The night was old and deep when the goat opened his eyes.
Twist lay on the rug before the dying fire, his legs tucked beneath him, his head twisted at an angle that would have killed any normal creature. His golden eyes reflected the embers, two small flames in the darkness. He had been waiting for this moment. For the human to finally sleep. For the guard to stop pacing outside the door. For the house to settle into the quiet rhythm of the small hours.
He rose. His hooves made no sound on the stone.
On the bed, curled against Kaelen's hip, Sprite, opened one ember eye. It watched the goat for a long moment. Then it stretched, yawned, and hopped off the mattress with a soft thump.
In the corner, wedged between the wardrobe and the wall, Iron the pig snored. His round pink sides rose and fell, rose and fell, and his curly tail twitched in his sleep.
