Between clinic duties, reading lists and working out, Martin hasn't paid much attention to Anders' absence. Not that he doesn't care, rather that he doesn't think it's right for him to mommy the other mage, aside from polite concern, now that Nathaniel lives with them.

Pounce's restlessness, however, hasn't gone unnoticed. There's scratch marks on his wrist and fingers from when he had the brilliant idea to cast a magelight, but before Martin could spell the mote away so Pounce could follow it, he'd gotten antsy and attacked his arm instead.

The kitchen, as the library, is his sanctuary. Martin shuffles onto the linoleum floor on laundry day, so he's only in the black undershirt and loose pants that are worn under his signature priest' robe. He's in the mood for, surprise surprise, frosted flakes drowned in whole milk, until he spots and smells the commotion in the kitchen.

"Is that what I think it is?" With the wide-eyed excitement of a child, Martin peers at the trays.