The goat snorts derisively. "Tearing his heart out? He'll be fine, then. He hasn't got one."

"No one asked you," Peter snipes back. The news that the goat is supposed to be his soul induces an expression on his face halfway between a sneer and a look of visceral disgust. "If my soul was going to be an animal, it wouldn't be a goat," he informs her, still not touching (or testing) the pain-of-separation theory. "A tiger, maybe, if it had to be something."