Leaves rustle; birds sing.
Sophie whispers, "Maude says no one has funerals for fabs."
"Maude's a ninny," Deryn says. Exhales. "Besides, Bovril wasn't only a fab."
Ernst, face buried in Alek's trouser leg, sniffles loudly.
Max swallows. Says bravely, "We shall carry on, even… even without Bovril."
They all regard the small patch of dirt beneath the apple tree.
"Do beasties go to heaven?" Ernst asks, quavering.
Deryn and Alek exchange a worried glance over their children's heads. She lifts an eyebrow.
"Of course," Alek says.
"Good." Ernst wipes a sleeve across his eyes. "Bov will love ballooning with Grandda."
