“My next anthology, I suspect,” Phyri admitted brightly, for she had already made some scribblings in the intervening months - oh, Merlin, how excellent it was to have finger and thumb again! - and seeds enough for a good deal more poems, for as long as she could nurture the inspiration. Happy as she was to be changed again, she did worry at how fast the sensation would fade.

But the curse might have lasted forever, if not for Arven’s help. “But never mind the bowtruckles, or the cursebreakers -” she said with a grin, nudging his side with her elbow where she was still clinging to his arm to spare the ungainly calf walking she was accomplishing now. “It’s you I really have to thank for freeing me.” He had not given up on looking for a solution, and had proved himself a true friend in the process - and to be honest Porphyria did not often thank people directly for their help, so he should count this a privilege. “Though it’s almost a pity it didn’t happen to you,” she added, teasing. “I demand to be the one who has to save you from an adventure gone awry next time.” He was the professional adventurer, after all. Surely he could get himself into trouble of some sort!

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