“Actually Shor—” He stopped himself when he noticed the bird had actually given up the fight against exhaustion herself and was now fast asleep on his shoulder. “…Ah.” He extricated himself from the griffon’s embrace as gently as he could. That involved sacrificing his cloak to her, unbuckling the clasps and slipping out from under it. She could keep it for the night. He didn’t exactly have any spare blankets, for the one he did have was currently balled up in a cocoon and covering the pony who had claimed it for herself. Speaking of Crimson, where the hell had she been all night? He quickly decided he didn’t care as the distant drubbing at the back of his head foreshadowed the dreaded aftermath that was the fate of all revellers. He was going to pay for this in the morning, but that was future Handy’s problem.