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If and when the newcomer finds a coat and makes it outside, he will see two figures wrestling in the snow, in the wreckage of a once-grand snow fort, to which a considerable amount of waste has been recently laid. The freshly-falling snow is softening the edges of what surely must have been an epic battle, but the wrestling figures are knocking that new snow down, packing it into the ground.

One of those figures, it must be said, is a griffin, almost fully grown, screeching as she swipes her talons into the drifts. Anyone who can speak animal will understand she's yelling baby kill!! kill mama!!! fake kill!!!! The other, a sixteen-year-old twenty-six-year-old, is shouting with laughter.