“I know. You don’t have to. Let me think. We can come up with another way for you to contribute.”
“Can you grow us wings?” Trickster asked, in a wry tone.
You know, I’m not sure I’d put it past her. Probably not ones big enough to actually fly with, though.
“I can’t generate flesh from nothing, and it’s slow to convert something into a part your body won’t reject.”
That seems like a fair limitation.
“Of course,” Trickster said, with a note of sarcasm.
Is Trickster not liking Amy or something? Maybe he’s a little peeved at her not being willing to do the thing with the dogs, which would’ve let them move over to where Siberian and co. are and help Ballistic.
Not helping, I thought. Amy was willing to do something. It was useful. We didn’t need to discourage that.
Very true.
Before I could finish my thought, I saw Amy walk up to Sirius and offer him one hand to sniff.
Ooh!
She flinched as he moved his head, pulling her arm away.
She’s understandably nervous, but she’s trying.
I joined her side, and put one hand on the side of Sirius’ neck, digging my fingertips into a meaty cord of muscle. I scratched with enough force that I might have left tracks in normal skin. “Hey, boy. You’re a good dog, aren’t you? Yes you are.”
This is adorable.
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