[He holds still for the procedure, confident that she has it and that any further interference from him could just complicate it all over again. Being a luck giver isn't the same thing as being lucky. Somehow, he can tell that, too.

Once his head is free, he draws it up and back for a good shake. Oh, that is so much better.]

It's blasted strange is what it is.

[As are the vocalizations that follow, what pass for laughter in a deer-like creature's throat and mouth. He glances down at the cuffs and snorts.]

Yes, I think so. I wouldn't like to revert to being so angry again. Perhaps we could sit?

[Holding his foreleg up for an indeterminate amount of time isn't his idea of fun.]