In this memory, you, in all your feathered glory, are sitting on the deck of a fishing boat. It's not a particularly big boat, but it'll ... probably be fine?

It'll be fine.

You're singing a wordless, cheery song just for the sheer joy of it, luxuriating in the sunshine and the wide open skies. Said song may or may not be an orchestral version of Uptown Funk?? Somehow. You're a frankly phenomenal singer, it's great. Kit, at the helm, is humming along.

You boat along for a good while, trying out different songs every now and then. (Bohemian Rhapsody is a good time.) Finally, though, you prick your ears and chirp a, "Ooh, there's something here! Hang about!" to Kit.

You launch yourself up into the air, seamlessly shifting to your true size. One flourishing spin later, you dive, plunging deep into the cold water of the Atlantic ocean. You emerge again after a long few minutes, a whole ass fully grown bluefin tuna wiggling madly in your claws.

Kit looks at you. You look at him.

You both look at the tuna.

You laugh so hard you almost drop the fish. "Bigger boat next time, d'you reckon?"