[ He sees her balk as they reach the edge of the property. The stone wall around its edge is a crumbling ruin; the skeletons of batcats stand guard at every corner, like particularly weird statuary. He at least has the good sense not to have the skeleton servants open the door: he does that the old-fashioned way, and leads her into a marble foyer patched with whorls of bone. ]
Late February; Willow, Gideon, Harrow.
Home sweet home.