“There was a Dryad, you see,” Susan says, attempting to untangle a twig from her hair with grace and failing spectacularly while attempting to ignore the argument behind her conducted in hissed whispers, broken by the occasional sneeze from Lucy as Ed uses the bedraggled remnants of his cloak to remove the coating of pollen from her skin. “There may have been more than one,” she admits, when Peter’s eyes narrow, and when he crosses his arms and raises a single High King eyebrow at her, she has no choice but to throw up her hands and say, “And yes, perhaps then Bacchus showed up, and all his Maenads too-”

“-it’s all a bit of a blur, to be quite frank,” Ed mutters, and Lucy adds, “I know I can’t recall a thing beyond the fourth song, the one with all the drums and wild dancing,” and oh, sweet Lion-

“-you two are not helping!” she yelps (though the effect is spoiled by the leaf that falls from her loose curls, dangling rakishly above one eye as she paws at it).

Peter’s cough redirects their attention, and when he says, in that no-nonsense-big-brother voice, “I can’t believe you three, really,” her heart sinks for a moment, before she notes the twitch of his mouth and he finishes, “taking in the joys of a Bacchanal without me - of all the rude, inconsiderate, absolutely abominable sibling behavior-” and it may be Lucy who breaks first, but soon all four of them are smudged green with pollen, lost to laughter in the debauched glade.