She had said it tongue-in-cheek, but preferably - surprised as she was to say it, given the usual loathing she had of being a woman - she wouldn’t have to live out the rest of her days as a wren. Porphyria supposed Mr. Fisk had inferred as much.

“Have I, Merlin!” She exclaimed in an emphatic tone, shaking her head at the healers’ absolute uselessness. It was no normal transfiguration, apparently, not one that could be undone by so neat a spell. And there was the added danger of experimentation with an unknown curse, too... A pity she couldn’t wield a wand herself, in this state, or Porphyria might have said to hell with the risk, and given something new a try.

So... “But you have an idea up your sleeve, don’t you?” Phyri said cajolingly, hopping onto his higher knee before she spoke (because even kneeling he was far too tall for her, and she did not enjoy the sensation of being talked down to, even by a friendly face). “You’d better not have come just to gawk.” She was teasing, now. She didn’t know whether he knew someone or whether the traveller-writer-adventurer had collected some knowledge or uncanny skill for himself, but honestly, she would take whatever ideas she could get.

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