It takes a bit longer than it should, entailing far too much yelping and nearly crashing into things and actually crashing into things and pulling fur and pulling hair and a thoroughly trampled patch of grass, but he makes it, wobbling coltishly about as he tries not to look down because it is high, it is frightfully high and he's still getting used to the idea of being so far up all the time.

"Right, then," says Wheatley, far too brightly for someone who has just spent the past ten minutes doing what passing bystanders can only assume is meant to be a twisted full-body imitation of a pretzel. "S'pose there's something to be said for the body after all, isn't there? No rail, for one! No rails, and binocular vision, that's gotta be a step up, eh?"

He grins at her, and immediately the expression crashes into a frown. "Wait, what's that you are now? Meant to serve a purpose, is it? All...four-legged and furry?"