Things were looking up. Despite the cold that left the world in perpetual twilight without, inside the inn — it was downright cozy.

Okay, so cozy wasn't exactly the right word. Kirain had set the Howff up pretty with fermented berries that you could scarf like pellets if you were insane (Lyra), or press into a juice to drink diluted if you weren't ( Mal ).

The witch had also sent a plethora of medicinal herbs to brew into teas and though Lyra remained skeptical of the magic... some were, apparently, a damn good time in the recreational sense. Maybe she'd leave that to the rest of the revellers, until she could be sure it wasn't just a bewitchment.

She had other entertainments. Jaskier sang a bawdy song from the bartop, and with a floral smoke on the wind the last few days to further lighten the mood, Lyra didn't find it in her to mind that the lyrics included some unflattering things about the state of her petticoats. Even pitched her hips a little to play-along. If she slept alone tonight, it'd be a fucking crime.

Ought not to be the only one making use of a bed or a downy nest. As poor Will-o'-Wisp now had to make peace with, Mal even invited a lady of the evening to stay and do business. Maggie had been given a room and set up with soft furs, and might find decent custom, tonight.

The whelps were free to meander about upstairs so long as they stayed out from under foot (Lyra might have preferred they keep to her room, but who was going to stop them?) Toad mostly stuck her head through the balcony slats and watched the going's on with wide eyes, tail wagging.

Unfermented fruit had been left for them upstairs. So long as they didn't manage to sneak down, things ought to stay sober for the maggots. Though Lyra had already decided to keep an extra eye on Newt , regardless. Troublesome little rascal, clearly took after her Da.

So it was! A proper inn. A proper party. There was song and dance and wine, and revelrous company to last them long into the night. Maybe even 'till next morning!

Spilling a bowlful of berries across a rickety table for all to share, Lyra crowed, 'Ere's to te Howff! May she stand always 'least 'alfway upright, an' never be completely sober!