_{[she doesn't fight it when she feels his hand withdraw. what matters is she still has the other in her own, and that's the one she gives a squeeze to. it's almost funny how much smaller her hands look and feel. it'd be even funnier if morga were to let something as small as a difference in size get in her way. she doesn't get to think about it for too long, her eyes drawn to the way the feathers around his shoulders flare. to the ones on his neck, and the curve of his wings. while part of her actually wants to reach out and smooth them down, she doesn't remove her hands from his. he isn't jæger, and she won't insult him by treating him like he were simply an upset animal.]}

Oh, I have an idea of what he's capable of.

_{[the ritual. the state of the world. the state of julian. she tries not to think about the former, running her hands up the length of his instead. up, back down, to the outer sides. it's a way of grounding not only herself, but hopefully him, too. something to keep their minds on the present rather than something else. after a minute or so of it, morga's fingers pause at his wrist where the scales widen and creep up the length of his arm. silently, she asks permission.]}

...But it won't happen. You're not turning yourself into anyone — the city guards would be on you in an instant, and I'd rather avoid the headache of pissing off the entire city by breaking you out of jail. And him... I'll write to the magicians if it'll help. Find out what happened. I'll send it with Jæger, and I'll keep everything as vague as I can.

_{[not until he's good and ready. it's cruel to keep this knowledge from portia and mazelinka, but it wouldn't do anyone any good if she plucked julian from the frying pan and threw him into the fire almost immediately.]}