churn a sorrow ._. joining

[LETHE ELD-CIPHER]

[table]
[tr]
[td]

[/td]
[td]

The wyvern has no ears of note; if they are present they are small and hidden by feathers. Regardless, hearing speech warranted one of the creature’s four eyes to open. Consciousness regained, snout twitched, a breath dragged in with gills flaring again. The open eye looked between the two that had arrived, and a grunt sounded to show he heard the words. Another eye opened, and the other two eyes followed suit. Half lidded, absently staring ahead in a blank and dazed mannerism.

Not species or people that he knew, he noted as a grunt escaped past serrated and sharp teeth. More like a puff of air, removing stale air from his lungs. No attempt to stand up was made, nor explanation given. The wyvern’s left wing was sprained, albeit hard to see through the thick and oily feathers. Laid awkwardly it was, in a position that no flying creature would ever consider normal.

“Thank you,” came the surprisingly soft and quiet voice from such a massive creature, four eyes blinking anything but in unison. “’m Jotunhel. Or Jot.” Perhaps he did not realize an attempt to move him was being made, as another shaky exhale rattled the wyvern as he closed his four eyes once again.

._. Mobile

jotunhel ._. wyvern ._. tags

[/td]
[/tr]
[/table]