It's all very fascinating and he almost—almost—latches onto it, because he does genuinely want to know more about that, too. He can be distracted easily, it's true, and it might have worked under different circumstances.

"I'm bookmarking that, for the record," the Doctor notes. "The Forsaken, we'll come back to that."

And they will, yes, but now he's locked onto Wrathion himself, for better or worse.

"I'm very old, as you know. Been around, seen a lot. Your magic—or what I know of it—is unique. Fascinating, extraordinary. Stick with me a moment, eh," the Doctor settles back against the table again, arms folded.

"Your red eyes—lovely—the dragon pendant, an understanding you seem to have not only of Irenia, but with her. The carefully crafted instrument suited to her specifically, the tokens you've made to help people fly. So much like a dragon. But here you stand before me, not a dragon. The rest of my point, I'm getting to it. I've met many species in the universe that could change form, shapeshift: Kymbra Chimera, Zygons, Axons, Rutans, I could go on. Different mechanisms, of course, different adaptations, but all variations on a theme."

The Doctor's eyes are both curious and soft. "So! You're a dragon in a different form. I'm sure I'm right, but I'm also sure and will insist that you have nothing to fear from me." Secret that it is; many must already know. "Secrets keep us safe, I know all about that. You can lie to me if you want, deflect, ignore all of it, you don't have to say anything else at all in fact if you'd prefer. You could stand there and glare or raise a withering and skeptical eyebrow, but I've found moments of truth don't have to be as terrifying as we imagine."

Ah, yes, because the Doctor is always so excellent at this himself, of course.