She turned the low light on over the stove - the one she always left on, for no practical reason she had ever articulated but that everyone in the house had come to understand as a kind of quiet signal that the kitchen was resting but not closed - and moved back toward the table.
She looked at Lily, who was in the particular state of not-quite-asleep.
"Lily," she said gently.
Lily stirred. "Mm."
"Time to wash up."
A pause. "In a minute."
"Now, Lily."
Another pause, this one shorter, in which the internal negotiation concluded with the same result it always concluded with. Lily straightened slowly, dislodging Ash with the careful movements of someone trying not to disturb a sleeping thing, which was considerate given that Ash was not actually sleeping and tracked the transition with one open eye. She stood, her movement carrying the faint heaviness of someone well fed and warm, and turned to Bruce.
