Whatever you choose, you aren't trapped with it forever. Flesh is malleable, after all.

[At least, when he had his full power. If Myr wanted to spend the rest of his days as a sapient crouton, it could be arranged, however ridiculous the request might be.

But there is a silence after Myr's thanks and the statement that follows, save the tap tap tap of claws on what might be tabletop. It's a slow sound, punctuating the quiet with little else. After a long, long two or so minutes:]

I must apologize, clearly I heard wrong, are you not seeking aid?

[His tone is as pleasant as he can ever make it, not neutral or suspicious.]