She couldn't help the waddle. Sometimes, though, it kept people's eyes on her feet and not on anything of her more dangerous parts, so Misha's long since grown resigned to the barely-suppressed chuckles and references to chickens that tend to follow in her wake. As Ryla explains the port, she nods along distracted and peers at the stalls and bars as they pass them with polite interest. "People are people everywhere," she murmurs. "Most of them are thick, dull souls who are barely worth the effort to deal with when they get in your way. I suppose these have a little more low cunning than most, though." She can't keep the disdain from her voice, though she does have the wit to keep it down. Besides, it'd be hard to hear over Ryla, who seems determined to fill all silences with talk. Misha wouldn't have minded even if her voice didn't have a certain natural flow to it that made it pleasant to just disconnect frmo the words and listen to; anyone watching a chatterbox and a waddling, grumpy-looking harpy wouldn't be likely to peg them as threats or people with more money than ability to defend. "-t them." She finishes once Ryla cuts off a word. "You can say it, dear. Gods know I've been aching to get myself around some ensorceled fool since I got here, but I can't risk being too full to fight when the others get here. Speaking of which, I believe you are right- those are the people we're supposed to meet. Let's find a nice shady spot and wait for their boat to reach shore." Not having any apparent shame about discussing eating people (but still keeping quiet!) she just keeps waddling towards the side of a building, casting a glance every few seconds back to gauge the boat's progress.