“Meet a lot of tortoise shape-shifters, do you?” Tip asked, unable to keep a sullen tone out of his voice and to be honest, not really trying. “You seem to be taking this awfully well.”
Steve smiled and sat up, one broad shoulder brushing Tip’s in disconcerting fashion. “Well, my family’s from the island originally—one of my ancestors was the first landlord of the Hare and Hounds pub up on Arreton down. I spent a lot of time here as a kid—you kind of get used to unusual things happening.”
“You do?” Tip wondered aloud. He’d lived on the Isle of Wight most of his life, and he’d still been woefully unprepared for sudden shape-shifting. Perhaps he should have got out more.
“So, how did you develop this, ah, interesting ability?” Steve continued.