He's certainly lighter than she is, and shorter too-- hollow bones and a body much thinner than it looks, under clothes and fluff. His own hand is soft, covered in a layer of extremely fine feathers, though the palm is bare and strangely scaled; bird hands, if there could ever be such a thing.

"I wouldn't know," He lets her go with a shrug to emphasize his ambivalence. Earth, he's heard of, but it's an alien thought, "I'm from the Great Sea, where all the world is water and islands. There are legends, of how it was once all dry land, a great kingdom that's been flooded since long ago. It's only a story."

He turns away for a moment, squinting at the horizon. Heat shimmers the air, and if the ground were not already a mirror, it would undoubtedly paint mirage-puddles against the glare.

"But worlds can change so much, I suppose. It's hard to imagine what might have created this, if not a Goddess."