Strange. She usually has more to say than this. He doesn't get much time to ponder it however, as her lips gently kiss his beak.

As before, the transformation takes him rather violently - at least, that's how it looks to the bystander. The shoebill's form contorts grotesquely, limbs shortening and lengthening, until Emet-Selch is left sprawled in the mud breathing as hard as if he had run a race. It hadn't hurt, but one could be forgiven for thinking it as they watched the process.