Wolfwood claps him on the shoulder, grinning, wincing a little as the movement tugs at his stitches.

"That would be great."

Inside, the cross is relegated to a corner, and Wolfwood finds himself, after excusing himself a moment to get cleaned up, surrounded by the children, all babbling happily at them. One little boy sits on his lap, and the older boys and girls are asked, one at a time, how things have been.

There's a chair there for Michael, too, and that little dark-haired girl who seems to have taken such a shine to him.