They sat in embarrassed silence, watching the raindrops bruise the first flowers.

Eventually Crawly said, “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”

“Er,” said the angel. A guilty expression passed across his face, and then came back and camped there.

“You did, didn’t you?” said Crawly. “It flamed like anything.”

“Er, well-”

“It looked very impressive, I thought.”

“Yes, but, well-”

“Lost it, have you?”

“Oh no! No, not exactly lost, more-”

“Well?”

Aziraphale looked wretched. “If you must know,” he said, a trifle testily, “I gave it away.”

Crawly stared up at him.

“Well, I had to,” said the angel, rubbing his hands distractedly. “They looked so cold, poor things, and she’s expecting already, and what with the vicious animals out there and the storm coming up I thought, well, where’s the harm, so I just said, look, if you come back there’s going to be an almighty row, but you might be needing this sword, so here it is, don’t bother to thank me, just do everyone a big favor and don’t let the sun go down on you here.”

Fiery red amber and sweet oudh, flickers of honeyed patchouli and red musk, pale white coconut flecks, and crushed peppercorn.