"Though perhaps that is the form you would prefer me in," she spits. "So docile, with no mind to speak of."

She is furious that she was so easily coaxed into complacency. Had he not taken off the hat, she might very well be saddled by now.

"You--" she cuts off, as the contents of her stomach rise up, rebelling at the change in shape. She turns to a nearby tree and uses it for leverage while she becomes sick.