'Tis right sorry I am ta hear o'yer troubles. *Apil slings her arm around Laurels' shoulders and begins walking as she talks.* They put ye in a cage ye say? And thought ye were a bear? Ye poor wee lass.

*Laurels is too busy acting the pathetic wretch to notice she's walking up some wooden steps.*

Do ye think tis because ye smell like rotten potatoes? Here, let me make ye feel more at home. *Apil closes the lid of the barrel as Laurels falls in.*

O'course I forgive ye! *Apil yells as the lid is shut tight.*