The cake was crenellated, icing swept into escarpments and arcane whorls.

They carried it into the cosy cavern, careful not to disturb the candles standing dark against the edible slate, like beacons yet unlit.

She gasped at the craftsmanship, traced the lines with a delicate claw, looked up at the expectant faces of her gathered kin.

Then with pursed lips and the delicate aroma of smoke in her nostrils, she blew the candles in.