Oz would like to fold in on himself. The whole way over, he kept trying. If his body can go huge and furry, why can't it shrink the other way? Bring him down to the size of a pea, small and inconsequential, let him roll away, out of the way
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Giles' voice is flat. Like old silverware, buffed and scratched, no shine left it, and it clinks against Oz's back, rattles his spine, thuds dully in his ears
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