She finds an enormous white fluffy robe, smothers herself in it, and curls up in a deckchair with a cheeky margarita and the latest Vogue. Bliss.
There is a huge *POP*, a cloud of white smoke and cat hair drifting on the smell of patchulie and ginger, and the white fluffy robe transforms itself into a slight perplexed and modertly embarrised elf.
"Ahha!" he yelps, standing quickly and depositing the now nakkid Leafy on the pale tiled floor whilst still holding the margarita. "No little girl, I am not a god, just practicing from 'Palando's book of tricks and cantrips Vol VII'. Here, hold this glass a moment, just there...thank you"
Using said book to cover his modesty, the fearless Din turns to page 69 and waves the double page spread to the scowling Leafy. It is at that point when he realises that he should not have placed the glass there, which has spilt and sent the thin wedge of lime to roll gently and gather in the small of her back, in a golden pool.
"Um, good job I didn't come her on a bike." he muttered "parking that would really be a faux pas".