"He's g'na get himself gored," Sypha yawns, apparently unconcerned with Trevor's grisly fate. A little kernel of worry hardens in her gut despite her sleepy eyes and lazy stretch; if Trevor isn't back by late afternoon, they'll go looking. He can handle himself, but boar are no joke, and they don't have any dogs to sound the alarm.

Now there's a thought. Dogs. Puppies. Rolling around on the floor in front of the fireplace, getting underfoot in the kitchen, sleeping at the foot of the bed. Sypha smiles to herself, eyelids drooping shut again. How domestic.

Another handful of syrupy minutes pass by before she remembers she's awake, and there's a whole day full of things to do. Grumbling in the back of her throat, she rolls closer to Alucard, blindly butting her head under his chin. The sweep of his fingers up and down her arm is nice, but feels a touch preoccupied.

"What about you?"