From beside the heap of Sage's winter coat in the corner, the sleek brown and white athletic pit bull terrier Cinnamon leaps for the plaque and the mouse. Deftly catching the mouse in her big mouth, she bounces to the floor, and after getting a warning glare from the cats that she's intruding in their game (and knowing what a cat bite on the noggin feels like*) spits it out onto the floor. The cat and mouse chase begins.

Sage awakens from a long nap buried in the coats in the tavern's hall closet. The door to the recovery ward is open a crack, but none of the beds appear to be in use. She pushes her way back into the tavern.

"A cup of strong Yorkshire Gold tea, please. And ibuprophen."


*Clementine deftly delivered a bite on the top of Cinnamon's bony nose when the pit caught her by the leg two years ago at christmas. The bite was so hard the cat broke her own jaw, but she was otherwise uninjured. The vet bills broke my holiday budget.