Merrill walked into the common room about three steps, looking distracted, then stopped in her tracks with both hands halfway in the air and blinked.

"Oh. This isn't the fifth floor girls' room, is it?"

"You do!" Never mind anywhere she might have been trying to go; the fuzzy furniture was enough to get Merrill to pay attention for a while, and she was hurrying over to peer at the arm of a sofa and poke at it with one finger. "Is it always like this, or did it all just start growing hair?"

"It could be new. Or not. I wouldn't remember," Merrill said thoughtfully, still poking at the sofa arm. "It's so soft, though! Do you slide off if you're not careful?"

"The last time I tried to ride one of the halla, I fell off," Merrill admitted. "Actually, that was the only time. It was lot more slippery than I thought it would be."

She perched carefully on the arm of the sofa and let her legs dangle, kicking her bare feet back and forth.

"I'm not sure if it works the same way if I try to fall off, though."

Which was, of course, right when Merrill managed to lean backwards, overbalance, and end up lying on the couch with her legs still hanging over the arm.

". . . at least it's nice and soft," she said, and decided she'd be just fine staying right there. It was comfortable. "Do you know those animals, out in the preserve, in that pretty shade of blue-green? Halla look a lot like that, but with pretty, curvy horns. Oh -- and they're not that color, either. Just plain white."

"It probably isn't. So far, I almost never get to the place where I'm going on the first try," Merrill said; she didn't sound terribly embarrassed by this, just resigned. "So I think you're in the right place."

"Are you going to drink to everything else?" Merrill wondered. "Whatever else there is to drink to."

Everything, Merrill. The answer was everything.