When she snuggles in with him he curls one arm around her, the other hand resting on his middle.

"I can't imagine what sleeping in a coffin would be like, but I won't judge." A beat. "Though I bet it's kinda comfy with all that satin."

At the mention of the weed he looks at it and a wry smile touches his face. "Yeah. It's been... well, it's been a really... nerve-wracking couple of days."

As though reminded of it, he picks the joint up and takes a nice, long drag from it, blowing the smoke off to the side with a contented sigh. "Mmmh, takes the edge off the constant panic."

The fact that he doesn't cough on it despite no doubt having delicate rodent lungs speaks to how accustomed he's gotten to it. It explains a lot. But it really is congruent with his gentle and comforting personality.

After a moment, he adds, "Being a Pooka means being high-strung. D'you wanna try some?"