"Well..." the dryad points at your breasts, still swollen. "Your body has begun producing milk, as if for child. Your womb seemed to shape itself around the ooze spawns as well... it was as if you were preparing for a child of your own, and not a parasite's eggs..."<br/><br/>She hands you back your boiled leather tunic, and the vines around your body knit to form a modest skirt  for you to wear beneath it.<br/><br/>"This may be a bit tight at first..."