Margaret is on her way to work, walking instead of flying today so she can drink her coffee without spilling it, when she sees the cryptid. She's a truly far-out one, no limbs to speak of, just a long snaky body with a mirror for a face. Margaret smiles at her and goes to walk on by, but cryptid slithers right at her all of a sudden and--hits?--Margaret with the giant mirror. Except she doesn't experience getting whacked with a sheet of glass.
Margaret can't actually see Sovi's hands and grow more peanuts at the same time, because of the limitations of starscape, but she can flip back and forth really fast and it only slows her down a bit. Soon Sovi will have all the peanuts she can carry.
Margaret observes the difficulties of shelling and eating a double handful of peanuts in the absence of a table, utensils, and pockets. "Would you like me to make you a bag, or at least something you can set those down on?"
The peanut plant is temporarily replaced by a modified pitcher plant, with three enormous pitchers missing their various slippery and acidic chemical coatings and instead waxy all over. Margaret picks all three, hands one to Sovi, and switches back to peanuts.
"The peanuts? They're a kind of seed, they have a lot of protein in them so they're filling and give you energy. And they keep well and we might be able to grow some from the seeds. I'll make some fruit when we get tired of these and have some reserves built up." She's alternating putting peanuts into the other two pitchers, one for her and one for Daz.
"I'm a magical girl. Back home, some women get the ability to change their bodies, and if they make enough changes"--she gestures at her scales--"they can change their clothes and get other, unique powers. I can sense danger, and see how things are going to move before they do it, and sometimes I make prophecies like the one that said sailing wouldn't help."
"That is . . . a good question. On Earth it happens to girls between about eight and sixteen years old. I don't know if it can happen here, and I don't know if you're enough like an Earth human that it can happen to you, and I don't know if you count for magical purposes as being older than sixteen. It only happens to one girl in fifty anyway, so probably not even if it is possible. Sorry."
"Huh . . . I guess that makes sense, if you can make adults and it's a hard life here. Do you know how many people are on this planet?"
"I wonder if there's anyone who knows more about farming. And spinning and weaving and stuff, I can make cotton but I don't know how to get from there to clothes and bags and stuff."
"Making people is another skill I don't have. At least I assume it's a skill. And are you saying you can make people who are better at stuff than you are?"
"So it isn't just copying other people's skills. Huh. What else do you know that Daz doesn't?"
"Hmmm. How much do you need to know about a skill to be able to give it to somebody? The language thing suggests not much. Is knowing what things can be accomplished with it enough?"
"Okay. If Daz doesn't know either, I guess our immediate options are to try to start farming and stuff with what we can figure out, or to set out looking for more people and see if we can trade food for knowledge and other goods. Unless you have a better idea."