In my head, my arms, my legs, my chest. It's a good thing I haven't eaten peas lately, because this brings back bad memories. "Like a puppet on a string," Roz says encouragingly. I almost want to hit her for talking me into doing this, and I would, if I had any control over my body, which I don't. Because if I did, I wouldn't be walking like this--not with my legs and arms swinging out with each step.... I mean, what does Wren think she's doing? Does she really think people walk like this? This is Roz's solution? Handing myself over to a nitwit of a ghost?! "Of course," Wren says, pressing her hands--my hands--to my hips. I slap my hand over my mouth in surprise. I hadn't expected Wren to read my thoughts, to respond to them with her own. And my voice.... It has an Irish lilt to it. Wren nods my head, answering my thoughts once again. "I hadn't counted on this being so invasive," I mutter more at Roz, than Wren. "And I hadn't counted on yer clothes hugging so tight," Wren retorts. "Well, you're not wearing your ratty nightgown anymore, so you can stop walking like you are!" "Myr!" Roz says, wiggling her hands by her ears in frustration.
