Long and gnarled fingers wave absently in the air as if to trace some symbol that might be immediately recognizable, but at the last minute defies comprehension. It is very sad. The girl's wings droop with her voice, more reflective of her moods than her expression, which remains static. The shift is fractional. Magnus leans forward, extending his hand so that each finger slowly unfolds one at a time.
Wings extend for balance, losing a feather on the way.
Magnus accepts the scroll and just as easily unrolls it. His eyes flick over it quickly as he skims the contents. She sinks back, digging a hip into the grass, and unfolds a leg to wrap arms around its bend. The girl's chin cushions itself on the socket of the kneecap, hindering the jaw in its work. But that does not negate the quality of his work.