<She's... under a lot of pressure,> says Trouble. <It kind of makes her cranky.>

"You're not cranky."

<I'm not her.>

"That is true." Snuggle.

Snuggle! Snuggle snuggle coo. Iago is the happiest pooka.

Rhea runs out of shortbread. Now she can huggle her pooka with both arms.

Excellent. Excellent and cuddly.

Very both. "I was kinda worried pookas were a one-time thing and you wouldn't come back after owling away," she confesses.

<Awwwww,> he says. <No way, I love you, of course I'm gonna come back.> He beak-nibbles her fingers.

She giggles and strokes his feathers.

He coos.

"I feed them every day, they're pretty tame," shrugs Rhea.

Trouble investigates Rhea's lap for stray crumbs. There's one!

"They only like me for my food," Rhea yawns.

The man looks at them for a moment longer, and at the pigeons still eating the crumbs at Rhea's feet, and shakes his head and moves on.

Snuggle snuggle.

"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.>