[Admittedly, he isn't just petting Berserker for his benefit; there's something soothing about stroking those smooth, leathery scales and he does it almost automatically.]

Of course. [Diarmuid looks up to meet his eyes. Even before his transformation, they had a feral glow to them; becoming a literal beast has merely intensified it.] If I can't take care of myself, I won't be able to take care of you. You'll be the frontline and I'll take care of the rear guard and flanks.

[Promise made, he steps back and touches two fingers to his own throat. Breathe in, breathe out. As spells go, it's a little more complicated than his usual fare but he's been practicing since they decided to take on this quest.

Short though his command is, the intensity of energy concentrated into it is palpable.]

Anáil na farraige.

[Nothing. And then-

Diarmuid gasps and claps a hand to the side of his neck as gills begin to split the skin, magic burning through him as the differences between water and air are temporarily bridged.]