He was pleased as all hell that he did. Living or dying, this was the form he 
wanted. Pain, pleasure, it was all his. The boundless loneliness he’d felt all
his life, the constant search for someone or something to fill his emptiness, 
came snapping back in on him, and suddenly he felt his desires and wants bounded 
by his own flesh, his troll flesh. "Much more manageable," he thought. What was
it Thomas had said to him in the Shattergraves? He’d asked a question. Something
about whether Peter could make any connection between how some women might be 
attracted to him and others not, and his own search to be human again?