It's a somewhat startling request, though perhaps it shouldn't be. Greta can only assume Iman's been managing well enough on her own these past few weeks as far as feeding herself is concerned, and hadn't thought to offer help beyond cutting the pancakes into manageable bites and nudging them in Iman's direction. More than that, she'd figured, would just come across as patronizing; you don't need two hands to operate a fork.

Then again, given the precarious state of the dish and the difficulty of cutting things up one-handed, it might take more than three hands for them to both feed themselves without making a truly horrendous mess (or just taking all day to do it). She has little doubt that it would be easier if Iman took over steadying the plate and left Greta both hands to deal with the pancakes.

But most importantly, Iman asked. She wants help, and it's no trouble from Greta's perspective, and refusing is unthinkable.

"Not at all," Greta replies with a reassuring smile. "In fact, as long as you've got the dish..." she carefully slides her hand out from beneath it and helps herself to the second fork. It's much easier to coax the pancakes apart with one fork to hold them steady and the other serving as an impromptu knife, and it's not long before she's reduced a portion of them into bite-sized pieces. She spears one for Iman and one for herself, loads them both up with syrup, and waits for them to stop dripping overmuch. "Here we are," she says, offering one forkful to Iman and popping the other into her own mouth at the same time.

Oh. That is good, and she lets out a satisfied hum.