Gil dances too, lighter on his hooves but not nearly as graceful, and puts his pipes to his lips where they chuckle a descant to Pan's wild tune.

He bounds outside, stepping might give him time to hesitate, and as soon as he feels the green earth under his hooves and the fresh air in his lungs he shivers, shaking off his responsibilities.

Skipping like a lamb, he gambols after Pan, leaving dishes unwashed and pizzas untopped.