"Somewhat less ill-tempered, I think." He deadpans, then says, "Ah, no, it's this part. The other part, that's 'Brass dragons have dull, motted brown scales at birth. As time goes on, the scales become more brassy until they reach a warm, burnished appearance.' How good are you with your letters...?"

The slight trailing off marks his sudden memory of the inexplicable text conversation he had upon arrival. Granted, he had a few of those, but that's the one that stood out most in his mind. Is this... Tyrion tries not to laugh suddenly, stifling it by staring fixedly at the drawing.