"I'm ever so pleased you think so," she says, just as softly. Around them, a cacophony of early-autumn sounds arise. Birds and squirrels seek the growing seed-heads of the grasses surrounding the blanket. Crickets chirp; frogs croak. The breeze ruffles the leaves of the nearby trees.

Susan's attention is all on Lancelot. Distantly, she thinks she might've had more to say. But it can wait. Of greater relevance right now is the gladness written all over his face.