Ugh, bee. The goat takes the last step she can and stay on the wall, tugging Peter forward again like he's on an invisible string, but her attention turns to warily watching the insect. Peter tries to make it look like he just happens to be strolling in that direction, without much luck.

"Do I look like a fat-arse?" asks Peter, gesturing to himself. He eats perfectly well, thank you. Sugar and alcohol are among the basic food groups, are they not? "Anyway, I only have you to say my soul even has anything to do with --" he gestures at the goat "--that."