Childermass could show up in a burlap sack and it would end the same way (an incredibly romantic train of thought, as far as Lambert’s concerned. His eyes crinkle at the corners as Childermass makes more of an effort, though that won’t save him from any ribbing.

“That’s more like it,” he says approvingly, grinning broad and slow. “Suggestive, but not vulgar. I suppose when you put it like that, slaying the next monster can wait.”

He steps away from the fence, but only as far as he needs to in order to turn so they’re face to face, a hand’s span between them while his tail slides along to stay as much around Childermass as it can, with the motion, and his hands come to rest so they’re resting lightly to either side of him.