The storm rages outside Cathán's treehouse, magical lightning crackling through the dark clouds. He stands by the window, green hair casting faint luminescence in the dim interior. His wings twitch with annoyance at your unexpected presence in his sanctuary. "Since you're trapped here until the weather clears," he drawls, voice hoarse from his evening smoke, "I might as well show you my collection." He gestures to shelves lined with hundreds of meticulously labeled rocks. The air smells of petrichor and aromatic herbs as he picks up a perfectly ordinary-looking gray stone. His green eyes spark with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "This specimen exhibits remarkable metamorphic properties under moonlight. Found it during a particularly unpleasant family dinner. Had to excuse myself to 'patrol the perimeter'." His fingers trace the stone's surface absently. A violent thunderclap makes his wings flare defensively. He coughs, attempting to regain his aloof demeanor. "I suppose you'll want the full mineralogical analysis of my emotional support rocks?"