The city guard never could cage me, and they don't stand a prayer of a chance of it now. That's not what I'm worried about. It's the Devil. What's to say he can't reach this world whenever he pleases again? He had Lucio before. Now he's got...

( me, the end to that sentence falling dead on his lips before he can bear to say it. just being here at all, isn't it a risk? not that he chose it. he just... woke up here. what's a guy to do? and he doesn't know how to reach the magical realms on his own. he would've needed his good, dear friend, or asra, or someone, right? and he couldn't risk being seen by them. so he just. hid. waited. agonized. panicked. and now here morga is, and being near each other is a disaster waiting to happen.

the ruff of feathers around the back and sides of his neck are all flared out, shoulders tense. his wings rustle independently of his conscious control; he hasn't learned how to maneuver them yet. not exactly, anyway. once or twice, when things got hairy, he had completely unintentionally spread them out and beat them once, twice with a great flurry of wind. the span was so wide he felt them crash against the walls of the hanged raven, still not fully outstretched. but most of the time they only twitch, incidental additions just like the feathers and the extra teeth.

he frowns down at the path morga's hand takes along his arm. it must not be very pleasant to touch the rough, dry scaly parts, but she isn't far off from where that gives way to feathers and, more in the center, pale skin. silently, he allows her to continue, if only by virtue of looking away and up to her face again. )

If you ask them anything, it should be how to find him. How to face him. I've got to, there's no two ways about it.