A laugh escapes Mulder, itself short. "Just how long do they get? Forty feet?"

It wouldn't be her, he wants to say, if she were above-average in size. She probably wears it well, all those links of muscle and bone. Somehow, the idea of rippling scale and muscle doesn't sit nearly as poorly with him as leaves and bark - but that, he thinks, is probably because it isn't him. It's easy to see Scully inside a body with four arms and no legs, because he know it's her already. He can see the woman inside the monster, even without the outside details to help.