A kobold? Like Coleman? What would she be like, as a kobold? Would she get a new coat of scales? Would she be built strong like a conductor? And the tail, what about-

No. No, the tail would be different. And she’d be different. And if she was different - really, truly, permanently different - would her own name recognize her? She couldn’t say for sure, but the risk? Too great. Much too great. Nevermind the bit about being a bug. 

It’d...been some time since she’d heard that argument. Had to make that argument, to be precise. But hearing it again, her feet settled on two solid facts: She could not let this silly, stuffed-up, mouse turn her into a kobold, or a bug, or whatever struck its fancy. And she could not let go of all her precious things. Not yet.

“Alright,” she said, kneeling down to their level. “I’ll tell you what I know. Here, come closer, I can’t be too loud...”

She told them of every night they’d ever sat alone in the dark, and wished in their secret heart for the sound of another soul. She breathed to life the memory of cold, digging through skin, through bone, through sense and reason. She spoke the words of comfort they kept only for themselves, and they pierced all the more to hear them on another’s tongue. Ached, for the sea of storm surrounding them, forever around them, until at last they go to where they will never feel the wind and rain again.

She spoke the name of the Flood to a heart unprepared.

“It’s...not a matter of wanting and taking.” She said quietly, tears flowing freely down her own face. “You have to want it, yes, the original want is quite important. But, you’ve got to want to hold onto it once you’ve got it.”

“...do you still want to hold onto the rest?”

[Rolling to Finish the Grand Squeaker with Grace: 3 + 6 + 2 = [b]11[/b]]