He's taller than Rictus Erectus. She notes the horns, the skin-colour, but it's the sheer size of him that trips her again and again. Skin can be paint, horns surgery, but size?

She's glad she's wearing shorts, boots. She could run.

Except no, screw that. The Splendid Angharad puts some steel in her spine, straightens her shoulders, like he's merely tall and not gigantic.

"They have such knick-knacks where you're from?" Splendid asks him, tilting her head towards the porcelain figurines. Some are of women being figuratively eaten by their skirts, others are more disturbing.

She does like the look of the spiky lizards, though.