"Porthos' fault," Aramis merrily accuses, "As is its name, which is Athos." He glances to Porthos. "Perhaps it is time to find a new one, as I don't think I can bear shouting 'Athos, take my feathers out of your mouth!' anymore."

Selecting the wine, he brings it to the table and uncorks it, pushing Athos' glass hastily towards him. "Do not be cross. We missed you, and the little thing does scowl so." He bends to lift little Athos up. The creature surveys them all with indifference, even as it butts its head against Aramis' chin. "You see?"