Bovril is having the most splendid dream (imagine! – a strawberry bigger than its entire body, and all for itself!) when it is rather rudely awakened.

A human foot connects with Bovril's pillow at the lower end of the bed. Glancingly, but it's enough to send the loris tumbling.

Bovril squeaks in alarm and grabs for the thick blanket as it falls. Some of its claws manage to snag in the fabric. The loris finds itself hanging upside-down over the wooden panels of the floor… and slipping.

"Mayday!" it exclaims, hoping that its People are awake to hear.

And indeed, there's a half-asleep curse from further up the mattress. The bed bounces and jars and Bovril feels strong, familiar hands close around its abdomen just as its paws lose their grip altogether.

"Sorry, beastie," Mr. Sharp says softly, setting the loris on her shoulder and giving it a much-needed scratch beneath its chin. "I reckon that was my fault."

Bovril takes a firm grip on her nightshirt. It waits a moment until the wobbly feeling in its limbs subsides. Then it strokes a paw down her cheek in reassurance, murmuring, "Quite all right, madam, quite all right."

On the other side of the bed, Alek rolls over and says in bleary German, "Deryn? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, love," she says in English, climbing back to her customary spot, though she doesn't get under the blanket again. "Did I kick you?"

"No. But you seem to have kicked Bovril." Alek sits up and puts a light on, and they all squint and blink for a moment. "That wasn't 'nothing'."

She hesitates. Gives Bovril another scratch, this time between its ears. The loris leans into it and purrs.

"I might have had a wee nightmare," she says to Alek.

He pushes a hand through his hair, which is rather mussed. Alek doesn't like having mussed hair, but he also does not like when Bovril attempts to help him groom it. How silly.

"About your father?" Alek asks. He yawns.

"No," Mr. Sharp says. She frowns. "About my wedding dress. Sodding thing tried to eat me."

Now Alek frowns.

Bovril can't frown, but it flicks its ears lower and makes a rumbling noise in its throat. It would, on the whole, much rather be dreaming of strawberries still than attempting to parse through this. Wedding dress... It knows about those. White. Worn by brides. Banns, flower bouquets, veils, church bells, priests, Let no man put asunder.

Try as it might, however, the loris cannot connect any of those pieces to the wedding it observed.

"Your wedding dress," Alek repeats. He rubs his hands over his face. "Liebe, you didn't have a wedding dress."

"You didn't," Bovril agrees, pleased that someone else remembers this.

Mr. Sharp yawns and scrubs a hand through her hair. (She doesn't mind if her hair is mussed, and she always laughs and thanks Bovril for grooming her.) "Aye, and lucky so, since the bloody things are carnivorous."

Alek squints at her. "Deryn – are you winding me up?"

She shrugs with the shoulder not occupied by Bovril. "Maybe just a squick."

Alek attempts to stifle another yawn, and fails. He puts his back to Mr. Sharp and Bovril, scooting down and tugging the bedcovers up to his chin. "Do so in the morning, then. I'm too tired to appreciate it right now."

Mr. Sharp watches him for a moment, a small smile on her face. Bovril has observed this particular expression many times. When it's directed at Alek, there are particular events that inevitably follow.

"Down you get, beastie," she whispers to Bovril, nearly inaudible, and – as predicted – lifts it from her shoulder.

Bovril's hopes that she will place it on its pillow again are quickly dashed. Instead, much to its disapproval, Mr. Sharp sets the loris on the floor, which is rather chilly.

"Blisters," it says, lifting one paw and then the other. It peers up at the bed now towering above it. "Pillow. Mr. Sharp."

This is a terrible angle for observation. Bovril can see nothing.

And no pillow is forthcoming. Instead, the loris hears the bed creak as Mr. Sharp shifts her weight towards the other side, and then she asks Alek, "What if I'm too scairt to sleep?"

He moves as well, to judge by the sound. "You aren't. You never are. The last time you had a nightmare, you fell asleep again before I did."

Mr. Sharp hmms. "Maybe this time I need some comforting, aye?"

The bed creaks. A small, soft noise. Bovril tilts its head, chuckling to itself even as it shivers. Wedding dress. You may now kiss your bride.

"Mm. Deryn," Alek says, somewhat breathless. "As lovely as this is - it's two o'clock, and we have a meeting with Dr. Barlow at seven."

"Dr. Barlow can sod off," Mr. Sharp says. Bovril's ears twitch in something approaching irritation; it's heard that phrase before, and right now it has other concerns anyway. Namely -

"Pillow," Bovril says.

The pillow does not appear. Perhaps no one heard it. There are a great many small noises now occurring on the bed, after all.

"Pillow," it says again, more loudly.

Someone puts the light out, and the room is abruptly plunged into darkness again. More creaking. A nightshirt slides off the bed and onto the floor beside Bovril.

It seems there is to be no pillow.

Bovril stretches its front legs, then its hind legs, and then begins to evaluate the nightshirt's prospects as a replacement pillow. Somewhat lacking in cushioning… however, it is cozy, warm, and smells like one of the loris' People. Excellent.

It steps into the garment and rearranges it slightly to make a better nest. Then it turns around three times and settles in – its back carefully towards the bed.

Above and behind it, the loris hears Alek gasp and Mr. Sharp snicker.

Bovril flicks an ear. "Carnivorous," it says to itself, disdainful, and goes back to sleep.