In his own world, what seems like long ago now, he'd been really, really popular with tweens like this. How many selfies had he posed for? How much money had people made off of his image? Funny now to think nostalgically about that.

"All right, you pass muster, kid," he says, more wearily than he really is, and he lays down on his deeply padded chest. Little gembirds flutter up and resettle on him, neat rows of them weighing on his tailfeathers.

Even lying down, if he keeps his neck upright he's a shade taller than her. "Go for my neck, but remember I need it! I'll let you know if you're squeezing too hard." Under feathers that pad it out significantly, his neck isn't that much bigger around than her waist.