"...Yeah, I think I get it. The canoe cannot be a tree any longer; all change is some kind of loss." Erin chews the end of her cigar; she's gonna ruin it like this if she doesn't pay attention. "I'm not gonna hold that against you, Johnny. I don't really think I could even if I wanted to. These..." she folds a wing over, and brushes it gently with her fingertips. "Back home, me putting these on would have been an act of high sorcery. Struggle. Strife. My life on the line. Here they showed up in the mail against my will. Y'know?"