[There's an obvious slope of self-depreciation in the shrug he gives then.]

Aye, but a poor one. Men are meant to do it better than I do - to have more control, or... Well I don't know how, really.

[His fingers still skim through the fur along Ghost's spine. He'd asked to be a better one, but the fairies seemed to have misunderstood, and now he all he could do was warg poorly with the small pack of direwolves that Ghost had gathered up while away.]

I suppose I am. I'd have found it strange not to be.