Koshchei is shaping a delicate lark, life size, from the granite. He has pulled the stone loose from the fireplace for easier working with both hands. (And to make it easier for Skellig to see what he is doing, although there's not much to BE seen.)

"Indeed," Koshchei rumbles. "Especially if he is fool enough to do it using MY identity."

By the time they are finished with their meal, Koshchei has finished the lark enough that it is quite recognizable AS a lark. "Needs more work, more detail," he explains as he sets it down to pick up his mug of beer. "But not a bad start."