"Maybe," Mat nodded sagely, knowing better than to argue anything with a little girl. They'd win every time, and make you feel guilty for it without even trying.

He held up his prize, the little fanglies having bit into the cloth around his hand. It dangles upside down, snuffling at his palm, trying to get through to have a little nibble.

"Stubborn as old oak roots, for sure. Look at him go."