"There isn't any need to apologize, Pod. I'm afraid I'm still no Dragonlord," he admits it right away.

If there's one thing he won't lie about, it's what he is, at least when asked about it directly. He leaves the reclaimed coat laying across his lap and pulls the stick he'd been tending the fire with back out, though by now it's end is nothing but burnt bits and falling apart.

"This shape was a gift to me, from the Seelie monarchs. Apparently it was normal for dragons of this world to do the very same, like your own weredragons."