Bear was a slippery little thing, escaping his armpit with ease, and Little John threw a wink after her instead of lunging for her again, because he didn't want to break away from Elaine.
"We'll have our house to hole up in, at the end of any day, overwhelming or not," he said, mostly for Elaine's benefit, reminding her they had a safe haven and a path back to her through the wardrobe, should everything get too much. He thought she was right, though; they would adjust, and they would love school. "It'll be different lessons than the ones you're used to," he said, though he'd tried to school them with as much real-world knowledge as possible, so much of it was dependent on what books Elaine had been able to summon, and very few of those were by way of, say, theoretical physics. Of course, by the time the kids were old enough to wrap their hair around the concept of the real world, too, his own memories were years out of date. And then of course, there wasn't a screen in the house – Little John remembered the importance of screens, though had forgotten the strength of their appeal – but they were adaptable kids, he had no doubt.