The bard had spent a happy ten or so minutes slowly toasting Marcello's second set of notes over an open fire. Now he seemed unusually quiet and calm for Maitiu. Ever so often, he would freeze in place, and shiver, as one of the dark bands on his arms slowly shifted color and position, going from midnight-blue to a glistening lick of purple, then back again.

Barbara, however, was making up for his calmness, and flapping and folded her wings nervously. "Matt?" She asked. "Didn't Marcello tell you he wanted you to read those?" She asked, waddling over to him, watching his bands. "I thought we were going to go find someone and work on turning me back?"

He looked down at Barbara with some amusement. "You still haven't figured out those wings yet, have you?" he said in a softer tone as he bent down, then sat on the floor beside her. "You're going to make a poor raven, with no wings." He shrugged. "I've memorised them already," he said lightly. "No need for them."

"I hope I'm not a raven long enough to figure them out." She replied. "Although I have always wondered about flying." She added, a bit guiltily. She tilted her head at him. "You memorize things that fast? Is that why your bands were doing that... moving thing?"

He brushed at his arms. "I . . . don't know. They've never done this before. I've never seen it happen. It's . . . sort of freakin' me out." He managed a stuttery laugh. It sounded fake. "But you're right, we need to find . . . somebody. I'm no good at this sort of thing." He got to his feet, a little unsteady. "I feel like I'm drunk," he complained.

She twisted to waddle after him. "Sit on the bed, then." She tried to make a tsking sound but it came out more like a caw, which seemed to agitate her further. "Sit on the bed and we'll send for another bard or something. You shouldn't do a wedding if your bands are doing that." She said worriedly. "Do you want some water?" She asked, and then hissed a little. "Fuck. I don't have hands."

Maitiu chuckled a little. "Do you want some water? It's going to be a little awkward since I'll have to give it to you in a bowl, or something." He waved her off. "I'm fine. I just . . . I really think someone should see to the countess, too. She's going to fret herself to bits."

That stopped Lang, her nerves turning to frustration. "My bird hearing is off. Because you just said your bands doing something they have never done and you want to see to the Countess?" She asked. "The Countess." She said again, disbelieving. "You sit your ass down, and I'll go find someone to help." She said firmly. "Just open the door for me." She added, a bit less firmly.

The bard gave her a dry look. "I really don't think that would be a good idea. Barbara." He did not sit down. Nor did he move toward the door. "You know what broke the glam on the last person who got turned into a bird around this place? They had to break both her wings. Snap, snap. They have hollow bones, you know. Very fragile."

Barbara stared at Maitiu for a moment, as if coming to an understanding about something. "You're threatening me." She said simply. "Why?"