"Was he a cultist?" Rhea whispers when he's out of earshot.

<No way to tell,> says Trouble. <Unless I follow him around for a while to see if he does anything culty.>

"Like what?"

<Culty things. My talking pigeon friend - call her Titania - might get cranky if I tell you the details.>

"She's already cranky."

<Crankier.>

"How's that even possible? What'll she do, hang you from the ceiling of the pooka nest by your thumbs?"

He giggles. <Nah, that'd be fun.>

"Weeeeirdo pooka."

"What would she do? Are you gonna be okay with a cranky pooka queen to go home to?"

<Yeah, I'll be fine, don't worry about me.> He nibbles her fingers.

"Okay." Pet pet.

Snuggle snuggle.

"Titania's the queen, right? Fairy queen? Her and Overlong or whatever his name was?"

<Yeah, from Midsummer Night's Dream, I figured I'd go with the Shakespeare connection,> he says. <Since she didn't pick a nickname herself.>

"Is there a pooka king too?"

<Maybe.>

"Aww." She sighs. "I don't know whether I wanna tell her I'll help. I don't know what she'd want me to do."

<Me neither. We haven't really done that much yet.>

"And it sounds dangerous." She shivers.

<It is.> He coos and snuggles up and gives her tiny nibbles.

She pets him.

<You don't have to do the really dangerous stuff, though,> he says. <Nobody's gonna hurt you if you decide not do so something 'cause you're scared. We're scared too; we get it.>

"I am kinda scared."