Well. She's right. She checked three times, there's no doubt to it.
"Look," she mutters to herself, "I get it, it's scary, but deal. You are not allowed to - to -" To what? Go home? Maybe try to work up the courage later? Maybe try and avoid the shren house like so many other dragons?
It was a door. It's idiotic to be afraid of a door. Sure, there were shrens on the other side of it, but there could conceivably be shrens on the other side of lots of doors, some of them were in hiding, hair dye existed. Subtle colors existed. She could have been near shrens any number of times.
That - did not actually make her fear go away. Instead it makes her want to curl up in her little apartment and not go outside again.
Great. Okay. Stop that train of thought, it's not useful. If she stands here any longer, people are going to stare. (Is that person over there staring? Probably. Damn.) Just - door. Go. Walk.
She forces herself to walk to the door, somewhat stiffly. And then she is at the door. ... Does she knock? Does she just open it and go in? She has no idea. It's customary to knock, so... She takes a deep breath and does so. Resisting the urge to flee and teleport away (or scamper into the bushes) isn't easy, but she manages it.
She looks at Ehail. "You know the obvious thing to do with this is to go analyze baby dragons," she points out. "Do you want me to send you notes on things I find with your analysis? I'll credit you for it, or - er, leave you anonymous if you'd like. Or - actually, are you okay with me running off cackling with your darling analysis to analyze everything even vaguely dragon-like?"
"Yes," she says, realizing the obvious implications. "I'll - send you all of my notes. What's your line name, I'll mail you religiously."
Avet looks at Ehail. She realizes the other obvious implications.
"... I - sorry. I'm sorry, I'm a social klutz, I um. Sorry."
"So, uh, I'll send you updates. Do you want me to mention your name when I say who's responsible for the analysis, or remain anonymous? I won't take credit for your work..."
"I don't want to take credit for your work," says Avet, more gently. "It's - wrong." She uses the draconic word for morally wrong and also a bad idea. Draconic: convenient like that. "But I'll leave you anonymous? If anyone asks?"
"I would happily write your name on a giant banner and wave it around like a madwoman while loudly proclaiming that you invented your fancy spell," she says, lightly. "If you wanted me to. But you don't seem to? Or am I misreading you?"
"Well, I don't know, I wouldn't want anyone to do it for me, but if you wanted me to I would."
"I will not," she promises.
"You're welcome. But, seriously, if you want credit, by name, I will give you credit, by name, and then glare at any dragon that scoffs at it and then ask them if they would like to keep letting their children die because a shren invented the spell that maybe might help stop it."
"Okay. Then I won't do that." Pause. "And - er, sorry, for being pushy, I - want the world to be fair to you." Draconic, again. Fair as in morally right, fair as in logical, fair as in everyone gets it. No exceptions.
"... Sorry. Social klutz," she sighs. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"I think it matters if you're upset," she says, instead.