“Hey, Crookshanks.” Jim bends for a moment to pat the kneazle’s head in greeting, before following the feline towards the kitchen. Jim may not have a ton of happy memories with most of his family, but the smell of fresh bread is one of them, a warm comfort that reminds him of his grandmother’s cooking. Better days, perhaps. Younger days, anyway.

It’s enough to make him relax a little, as he and Crookshanks seek out the lady of the house.