The celebrations haven't stopped. Maybe that's a good sign. There's raw energy there tonight. The streets are full of it. Out in the crowd, lit by the yellow haze of the streetlights, a circle's formed. Some kind of spectacle.

There's some kid in the middle, shouting something, holding a pillow over his head. It's got a face drawn on it in red paint. The stuffing's been half-pulled out at the top to make a sort of white coif.

I watch in a daze, my hooves on my head. He chucks it to the crowd, and they start smacking it around like a volleyball, cheering and laughing. A towering lion moves in, snatches the pillow out of the air. He's shouting something into the crowd, and behind that shaggy mane, I recognize him. It's Neil.

He shakes it in his claws -- even bites it. Thick cottony clumps flutter out of it and onto the ground, landing in messy little piles. It looks like it's snowing out there. All at once it hits me what I'm looking at.