for desertdancer

[mostheavenly]

Time passes, as it is wont to do. The weather turns mild, hardly summer but definitely the warmest temperatures the region has seen for a while. Snow melts, at least a little, before more can fall from the sky. It's not a victory, but Aymeric can look out of one of the higher parapets and see that water rather than ice has returned at least in a few places, though there's still no hint of green.

He has a feeling he knows what will cause that, but it's not a subject he intends to broach with Khaishan himself, not for a very long time. Still, he's been spending most of his days not reading or searching for a way to end the "curse" these days, but cleaning, scrubbing down castle walls and floors and furniture that hasn't seen a caring hand in hundreds of years. Between that and trying to keep himself fighting fit (he doesn't intend to ever require Khaishan's protection, even though he can't say he minds it) he's often a delightful kind of tired, something that reminds him pleasantly of his days as a younger knight. It's good, simple work and he revels in it, even moreso when he sees the evidence of his handiwork in more than the castle itself, written across Ishgard on days like this, when it's clear and he can see all the way to the mountains on the other side.

And, he thinks, written across himself. The thought doesn't make him blush, but he does smile a little, private smile, raising a hand to where he knows one of the fresher marks on his skin is. Once they can open up the castle, perhaps he'll wear something more like the armor he came here in, something to cover up a bit more what's only for the two of them. For now, he often wears lower necked shirts deliberately, clothes himself mostly quite modestly out of personal preference and the chill besides, but leaves bold the evidence that it's not to hide from his lover.

He stays lost in that thought only a moment, but right as he's turning to go back inside, his eye catches something. It's far off, still, but he can think of only one impossible thing it could be, and he finds himself running, instead of the more leisurely pace he'd intended to take, until he bursts into the kitchens where he'd left Khaishan working on lunch for the both of them,

"Something's coming," he forces out, before he has to take a gulp of air, "By air."

There's no time for armor, but by the Fury, if Khaishan even shows the slightest hint of anything other than absolute calm, he's going to make sure he at least has his sword.

Comments

[desertdancer]

For the first time in a very long time, Khaishan feels... hopeful. He can see the shift in the land around his mountain den, can sense the change. A thing that makes him happy to see, a thing that makes him optimistic even that the changes can continue, that this long winter can finally break. And he knows that he has Aymeric to thank for this, among other things.

Their life has become something comfortable, a routine settled into that was soothing to the dragon, especially as he noticed Aymeric putting in that effort. He helped as well should he come across the elezen at work, but regardless the work being put in also made it seem like the man seemed to be making the place his home as well. That he was happy here as well which just comforted Khaishan to no end. And if it made him a bit more enthusiastic whenever he seemed to want to playfully ambush Aymeric to leave him flushed, breathless, maybe a bit more marked than he was when the dragon had found him, well that could hardly be a surprise.

He hadn't been expecting the sudden burst into the kitchen, gaze skipping up towards Aymeric as he forced out his news. A furrow of brows accompanying laying the knife he'd been chopping with on the counter, something not yet alarmed, but pensive and maybe even wary.

"Which way?" He asks even as he felt the faint prickle up the back of his neck, that indicator of another dragon in his territory that had him already heading towards the door.

[mostheavenly]

"East," he answers with barely a thought, every inch of his training kicking in. Khaishan has seen Aymeric in many different lights, but other than the wolves, when he came upon him already set upon, he's never really seen him like this. He's controlling his breathing almost instantly instead of heaving for breath after the run, his responses clipped and he's already moving out of the room even as he's answering, getting his sword from the bedroom that he still, occasionally, finds a use for.

He's back in an instant and it's strange to see him moving so fast and so armed but so calm, steel in his eyes now that it's also in his hands.

"I've no objections to letting you deal with this," he says, and he means fighting or he means diplomacy, whichever. He doesn't finish the sentence, doesn't feel like he needs to, the sword at his side proof that he's not intending for Khaishan to deal with it alone.

[desertdancer]

For all Khaishan hopes it won't come to that, hopes that diplomacy is the name of things here, he still nods at what Aymeric says. Feels a bit better for the man at his back, the calm sort of confidence he has, for all the dragon still worries about the idea of the elezen taking on another dragon, should it come to that.

"Hang back." Not that he thought that Aymeric was incapable, but he didn't know which dragon was calling, knew some would take umbrage at his presence, making solving this peacefully that much harder. Outside the castle, he wasted no time in shifting to his larger form once he was in the courtyard, giving himself a shake of body and wings both to quickly adjust to the differences before the strange dragon was landing. Similar enough in size, though without any of the appearance of softness that feathers might give, something about the dark green of scales almost poisonous in appearance when combined with the spines along it's back.

"Khaishan!" The name called in a tone that was almost genial, almost sounded friendly, if not for some undercurrent there. If not for the way that the black and white dragon all but froze at the greeting other than an ever so faint quiver of the very end of his tail, a sign that Aymeric would likely recognize as one that transferred to his smaller form too a thing of agitation or upset. "It has been far too long~"

"Ishont-" He could feel it, that tug of connection now that they were that close, that thing he'd been able to deny when he first was told of the dragon coming. That and the voice, that almost cheerful tone made it quite clear who had come calling, uncertainty crawling up Khaishan's spine as he watched the other dragon approaching with no small amount of unease. "I can't... say I ever expected to see you again."

He would just thank the Father that he kept his voice steady, even if the pitch of the wind definitely hinted at the upset he was trying to stuff away.

[mostheavenly]

He's not exactly adept at stealth, for all his other skills, but hanging back quietly in the doorway, in the shadow of a dragon does fade him to near total obscurity. If he needs to duck behind it, he can, but he wants to be able to see and hear in the first few moments.

As often is the case, Aymeric reacts to a shift in the air before he fully understands what he's seeing, feels the tension drift through him and recede more than he makes a conscious effort to quell it. But when Khaishan speaks that name, he moves, steps forward just far enough that he can reach up and put one hand (his off-hand, his other still ready to draw his sword) lightly on Khaishan's back leg. He's still mostly invisible, but even though Khaishan might want him to stay out of this, he has no intention of letting him do this one alone, though he'll still be happy enough to follow his lead.

[desertdancer]

"You seem so tense, my dear." If one didn't know the truth of Ishont, if they hadn't experienced it themselves, or like Aymeric read of what he'd done in his own words, they might only hear the concern. And even knowing the truth it was almost believable that he was simply concerned, nothing in his posture or tone overtly belying such a thing. And yet it was still there, had Khaishan's feathers fluffing faintly as he shifted his weight uneasily as the other was sliding in closer all charm and sweet concern, only the reminder of Aymeric in that light touch bringing him up short. "I've missed y-"

"You need to leave," Khaishan interrupted, a faint shudder running through him, invisible to the eye, but Aymeric would feel it under his hand. "You're not welcome here Ishont."

The facade of charm slipped at the interruption, something in it's place for a brief flash of a moment, a flat cold sort of rage gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by cheer again as he laughed. "I'm afraid not, my darling. I've come back for what's mine."

It was hard to say which moved first. But move one did and then both exploded into motion, Khaishan launching to try and get airborne, Ishont crashing into him immediately to keep him from it, the pair exploding into violence with snarls and flashes of teeth and claws, wings buffeting as they vied for advantage as they went tumbling. A sharp cry erupting from Khaishan as there was a spray of blood over the snowy ground, steaming in the cold air as they came to an abrupt halt, Ishont slamming him violently to the ground to pin, claws digging into the injury just made, one limb coming down to rake into the feathered wing Khaishan tried to hit him with as the green dragon bore down, fangs bared in a bloodied grin. "You're mine. The sooner you realize and submit, the less bits I rip off you to make the lesson stick-"

The last part was almost a croon as he dragged along that wing, letting claws dig into the feathers in a way that had Khaishan thrashing anew under him with a pained cry.

[mostheavenly]

He grits his teeth at the endearment, but he knows better than to meddle in the affairs of dragons. If they'd just traded insults, that would be the end of it. He's here to support Khaishan, not try to fight his emotional battles for him.

But the conversation shifts almost immediately and there's that crackling levin feeling at the first mine, the precursor in the air to the lightning of combat... but also a burst of static between his ears, something he finds he has to calm away, breathe through. Perhaps he would have lost some of that calm if they had simply kept talking, but there's a flurry of motion and he's drawn his sword even before he's fully processed what's happening.

Even so, he instinctively gives Khaishan the right of way, the first blow, and it's not until Ishont takes the upper hand that he moves.

There's a part of him that hears the words he's saying, feels a sick sort of anger roil through him, but he's trained for this and there's no room in battle for those sorts of emotions. He's cool to the point of cold when he leaps forward. It's not the height that dragoons could get, but it gets him the distance and that's all that matters, large sword slashing up to counteract his own momentum and opening a wound along the arm clawing into Khaishan. It leaves space for a follow up swing that will either open an injury further up the same arm or (more likely) force Ishont to back up to dodge it, putting space between him and Khaishan.

"I think perhaps you may wish to rethink the veracity of your lesson," he says, calmly.

[desertdancer]

Clearly Ishont had been practicing. Honing his teeth and claws on lesser dragons more than likely with the comfort he'd fought with, clearly knowing where to hit to hurt a dragon most.

He hadn't considered the idea of a mortal posing much of a threat, and by the time the movement had registered, Aymeric was already there the first strike opening a slash of red against the green scales, Ishont recoiling back from range of the second strike with a pained snarl, acid gaze fixing on the mortal consideringly before he laughed, a sharp angry undercurrent to it.

"Yes, yes, you're likely right. It'll definitely stick better if I tear you apart!" Even as he spoke, the dragon surged forward, lashing out with claws at the mortal in a way that won a distraught cry of alarm from Khaishan who struggled and failed to get limbs under him , splattering the snow under him with more red.

[mostheavenly]

This is a dangerous game, even moreso than he is used to. Although his normal armor was made light for mobility, it's layered patterns almost mimicking scales make it hard for claws to find purchase. It was made for fighting dragons and while it's protection was no insurance against a blow from something so large, it would have been better than this. Here, he's fighting as good as naked in the snow, a single misstep could have him torn open.

Even so, this is something he is used to, and several months away from his duties in killing lesser drakes don't make that any less true. Certainly, for a dragon this size, he would prefer to be in the company of a dragoon, able to leap and come from above, to drive a creature to keep to the ground or to rear up and expose themselves to attack from beneath. But he's taken down smaller dragons alone before and the theory is no different, merely the price for failure.

He can hear Khaishan's distress behind him, but he can spare no thought at the moment for what that means, not with Ishont bearing down on him.

The advantage, he quickly finds, in not wearing his armor is that he is fast without it, enough so that he actually overcompensates for the amount of force needed to dodge the surging dragon. The roll he pulls himself into to stop his own momentum is ungainly, but does bring him back up effortlessly to his feet, and with more than enough purchase that he's the one who charges the second time.

[desertdancer]

There was one other thing that would make things maybe not as unbalanced as they could be. A dragon of Ishont's size might have more trouble hitting a target that much smaller in comparison. Especially a dragon who'd focused on cutting his teeth on foes of a size to him instead, he might be a bit more flummoxed by the more nimble in comparison mortal, shown by the way he surged past Aymeric at first when he dodges.

He corrects quickly though, a snarl accompanying his own turn, though he hadn't quite been expecting the mortal to go on the offensive so aggressively, recoiling to try and regain a better footing in this fight, swiping at the elezen with a wing to try and knock him askew.

[mostheavenly]

While Aymeric is well-trained on the battlefield, his talent is in the tactical advantage. In a large-scale battle, he would almost certainly take up a bow rather than a sword, the better to see the fight from a distance, to know where to order his men. Mostly, however, he's been engaged in small-scale skirmishes, where his melee talents are more needed, or where there's really no true distance to shoot from. Still, the tactical side of his brain clicks along faster than the rest of him, and when the dragon sweeps his wing towards him, he weighs the chances in a second and leaps...

It's too slow-- or at least it seems that way. The meat and bone of the wing catch him in the side, and surely Khaishan expects the crunch of breaking bone, but he's jumped in the direction of the momentum, moving with it instead of against it. It still steals Aymeric's breath on impact, but it's nowhere near as devastating as it looked like it was going to be, and he's bringing the sword downwards as he's moving.

It slices through wing membrane cleanly and it's not a gash so much as a puncture, the momentum (and then likely Ishont trying to shake him off) is only going to cause it to rip the hole larger. If he's very lucky, it will tear all the way down the ligament to the tip and leave him on the ground with his sword. If he's not, at least he's clamped down on it and won't go flying, though then he'll have to figure out how to get his sword back without getting clawed first.

[desertdancer]

Where Khaishan might feel alarm at that move, enough that there's another failed attempt to struggle upright, Ishont feels nothing but a cruel delight.

Short-lived though it might be as Aymeric's blade bites into his wing, the dragon predictably recoiling at the injury to try and toss the offending mortal, snarling his fury as the sharp edge tears easily right through leaving the elezen still armed in the snow as Ishont rounded, eyes bright with fury.

"Little pest!" Snarled as he twisted, snapping at the mortal with those gleaming sharp teeth, definitely intent on snapping the elezen in half should he catch hold.

[mostheavenly]

Ishont has a problem, now, even though he hasn't discovered it yet, and isn't likely to for several minutes, depending on how the fight goes.

Ishont isn't the only one trained in how to fight dragons specifically and what Aymeric has done is sever his wing's membrane from the tendon and bone, most of the way down one side. It's not mortal and it will heal with time, but if flight is even still possible it will be excruciating and difficult to stay balanced in the air. Perhaps there is a little bit of cruelty in him in return: he's been trained to ground dragons whenever possible, to keep them from running, but those have been smaller creatures with the odds better stacked in the human's favor. A creature as large as Ishont could almost certainly still take wing.

Perhaps Aymeric just wants to make sure it hurts, to take the coward's path.

He has to stumble backwards more than land or dodge gracefully. The previous blow has him gasping for air even though nothing was crushed and he can feel the deep bruises forming along that side, painful all on their own. It takes effort to not clutch his off-hand over his chest, to lose the ability to use it for balance and there's just not enough left of him right at the moment to do more than simply get out of the way of those teeth, ceding ground.

[desertdancer]

While Ishont would likely be able to take wing still, there was no doubt that it would indeed be painful, inordinately so to do so. Not that he was trying yet, not that he had discovered this little detail.

He was a fighter yes, but he wasn't nearly so used to fighting someone so much smaller, unused to his opponent not being large enough to sink teeth into even if they tried to dodge, or to grab with claws. As it was he did his best to give chase with a snap of his jaws, even if it was more a scare tactic than anything with how hard it was to get a bead on the elezen with how close he still was.

[mostheavenly]

For a time, the fight starts to look fairly hopeless from the outside and Aymeric's not entirely certain of it from the inside. He can't seem to fully regain his footing, Ishont keeping him quite literally on the back foot most of the time, as he barely has time to get protesting muscles to move him out of the way, to keep dodging from those teeth. Aymeric can tell there's no thought behind the attacks, that he's just being snapped at viciously, but that doesn't help when it's fast enough that it's all he can do to get out of the way.

He'll tire before Ishont does if this keeps up, he's sure of it, and the air burns in his lungs already with the effort on top of the earlier blow.

And then, something clicks.

The second it does, he turns and runs, straight for Khaishan. It's a hell of a gamble, he has to turn his back on Ishont to do it, ignore every last bit of his training, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle immediately with it. If he's wrong about this, he's fucked, but Ishont is arrogant, possessive, haughty. There's nothing in the world Aymeric could be doing, to someone like that's eyes, than breaking and running like a coward towards his protector, hoping Khaishan would save him. He's hoping it will be irresistible, the allure of getting to kill him in Khaishan's "arms", to show him how little he can actually protect anything.

He doesn't need Khaishan to protect him, though. He needs him to--

"Up!" he orders as he nears him, hopes he can convey his meaning fast enough, relies on the way they sometimes can seem to be on some kind of deeper wavelength together, "Throw me. Use your claws or your teeth if you have to!" It will hurt, he's got little doubt of that, but dying's going to hurt a lot worse. If Khaishan doesn't understand, or won't do it hastily enough in his care, he does have a backup plan, but it's definitely not one he likes his chances on as much as this.

[desertdancer]

The bait is taken- easy enough to tell when Ishont didn't immediately bite the elezen when he started that beeline, confirmed in the cruelly amused sort of chuckle that sounded almost bloated with satisfied victory as the dragon was giving chase.

Goaded in the idea by the way Khaishan was immediately trying to struggle back up again when Aymeric was running his way, knowing the elezen well enough to realize that he wasn't fleeing. That he had a plan of some sort. Not that he was having much luck which just had alarm flaring in his breast at the idea that he might not be able to help-

The quick order, while he didn't quite understand the reasoning, he did trust Aymeric enough to know he wouldn't be asking such a thing without a plan. And with Ishont bearing down on them there was no time to question or protest, uninjured wing sweeping under the elezen before twitching up to launch him, the dragon praying fervently that Aymeric would come out of this in one piece.

[mostheavenly]

Khaishan isn't trying to hurt him, of course, but it still hits him right in the earlier wound and the pain is incandescent, but this is another place he's trained and he's putting his hand down on the spine of his wing in an instant, getting his feet under him and launching himself for a jump.

He's no dragoon, but he's trained with them, knows the strategy behind what they do, even if he's not capable of doing it. The ideal is to spear a dragon through the top of the head, piercing the skull, the secondary goal to get close enough to the neck to open a gash all the way down, assisted by gravity. He's not sure he could actually spear Ishont through the brain without a... spear, but he has another idea.

He's not quite on target, but he's close enough to hook a horn with his off-hand, even though it wrenches the muscles along that side of his body somewhat. He's still got enough strength to swing around with the momentum and pivots the sword in his hand, pointing it directly at Ishont's eye.

"Halt!" it takes effort to not sound winded, to put command behind his voice, but he is, after all, a Commander, "Make another move and I'll take the eye."

He'd rather not, if he's not made to, but he absolutely will, if Ishont doesn't listen.

[desertdancer]

Luckily for Aymeric, Ishont had never encountered the dragoons, nor their tactics. Didn't know what the plan was, the elezen airborne before he could even react, coming to a halt with a snarl before there was the sudden weight landing against a horn, the blade held with that point dangerously close to the large eye that moved to focus on the mortal.

"I'm listening, little insect." Not that he sounded pleased by it, not if the low growl under his words were any hint, the agitated ruffle of spines.

[mostheavenly]

"I'm not the one you should be listening to," his voice is still calm, deadly so, "nor the one who you should be hoping listens to your apology."

He doesn't dare take his attention off of Ishont, not even for a moment. The position he's in is precarious, and though any attempt to shake him off is likely going to result in serious injury, a fall from this height will also hardly be good for Aymeric. He doesn't have the same practice dragoons do. Still, it's obvious even without a glance that he's talking about Khaishan. And then, to him,

"Say the word, and I end this." His tone is steel. He's not bluffing in the slightest. Ishont won't be the first dragon he's killed and him having been a man, once, wouldn't make him the first of those either. Taking a life has never been something that filled him with glee or that he was proud of, but it's long since stopped being something to cause hesitation, when it was necessary.

[desertdancer]

For the moment, Ishont was still. That blade was too close to his eye, looked long enough that it could cause some damage beyond should the mortal shove it deep enough. Not that it stopped the low rumble from him as his attention twitched towards Khaishan, the other dragon shuddering with the effort of keeping upright now that he'd somewhat managed it.

"Just... put Aymeric down. Gently." Clarified with a narrowing of his gaze, a ruffle of blood-stained feathers. "And go. Leave. I don't want to see you here again."

"Very well..." Ishont murmured, lips twisting on a toothy sneer as he shifted to slowly lower his head, glancing towards Aymeric to make sure the little mortal disembarked without incident. "If that's how you really feel..."

[mostheavenly]

Aymeric rides down gracefully enough, still calm.

And then his feet light on the ground and he suddenly spins with a heavier momentum. Perhaps on a lesser drake, the strength inherent might just cleave it in two, but he has no such illusions here. It's utterly inelegant, different from his other fighting, fast and brutal, and his sword cuts in a diagonal arc down through the dragon's cheek and jaw.

Non-lethal, Khaishan has spoken, but even on a dragon, it's deep enough to scar.

"Khaishan has had ample time to contemplate forgiveness," he's not even raising his voice, his tone that same steel, "I have not. The next time you lay a hand on what is mine, there will be no mercy."

[desertdancer]

The sudden violent bite of the blade into flesh has Ishont recoiling with a startled, pained snarl, eyes flashing with utter fury. Especially with Aymeric's words following, rage clear in every line of the dragon.

"Little pest-!" He bellows, teeth bared as he was wasting no time in lashing out fast and quick, looking to take Aymeric off his feet in a savage bite. But there was a shout of alarm, a thunder of movement, and while teeth did find flesh it was scales and feathers rather than what Ishont was expecting. Khaishan was too injured to fight him properly, especially not taking that newest bite, but the weight of him was enough to send them both tumbling as he scrabbled for a better grasp on the green dragon, forcing his vulnerable underside to the open, even as Ishont violently jerked his head, dragging sharp teeth through flesh in a way that had Khaishan crying out in pain around his own mouthful of the other's wing.

[mostheavenly]

Aymeric is already just letting himself fall backwards, bringing the sword up. The hope is that Ishont would either be dissuaded in the bite, or Aymeric could at least deal some serious damage, hopefully enough to force him to let him go. It's a lot of "hopes" and a lot of "or be bitten in half" but his mind is still treating his death as a tactical disadvantage to a battle and not as... well, his death. There's no fear, it will come afterwards, only the fight and doing what he can to secure victory.

But then there's a different kind of shift in the tides and he goes with the motion of gravity, pulling himself into another roll to his feet. Everything hurts, everything weighs more than it should, but it's possible to push past and he does, drags himself into a run, somehow.

Later, he will note that his training could not prepare him for this, that now that he's slipped once, regaining his footing would be difficult and he should have anticipated it. But in the moment, there's nothing of his training for victory, for where or how to strike or why, only the blinding thought that Ishont is hurting Khaishan and he needs to make him stop.

His sword stabs into the vulnerable spot revealed by the tussle and there's no thought to making it worse or staying his hand, there is only twisting it deeper or dragging it through flesh and scales until Ishont lets go. Until Khaishan is safe.

[desertdancer]

Khaishan doesn't dare let go. Doesn't dare to loosen his grip on Ishont, not with Aymeric right there still, not with the blinding rage he can all but feel off the other dragon in roiling waves. Enduring the teeth worrying at his shoulder, keeping his own underside pinned against the other dragon's bulk so that scrabbling claws can only dig into sides and back rather than anything too damaging.

There's a pained roar as Ishont releases his bite to try and turn and snap at Aymeric but the way he was tangled with Khaishan made it impossible especially with the other snapping at him again to force his attention away from the mortal. Struggling to keep Ishont trapped as he felt the shift in his struggles from fury to frantic bids for survival, the bites and clawing more erratic than anything as Aymeric's blade was quite effectively ripping the dragon open, spilling even more blood into the snow.

Khaishan didn't dare to release his hold. Didn't dare to let up even a bit, knew that if he did there was no way he could gather himself like this again, that Ishont would maul him, would kill Aymeric. No, all he could do was hold tight, dig in as well as he was able as he felt the other dragon's struggles lessening. Only once he felt the tell-tale give, that final shudder, did he even dare to budge even a little, slumping where they'd come to lay, a tremor coursing through his injured body as he was slowly extracting from that tangle of wings and limbs to lay limp, panting both from pain and exertion.

[mostheavenly]

And then, it's over.

One breath. Two. Aymeric tugs his sword out, twists his torso slightly. He doesn't think he's broken anything but he's not uninjured either, can feel his breath shortening now that his body has processed everything he's pulled, every bruise against bone near the surface. It's hard to take a full breath, something hurt beyond simple repair in his intercostal muscles. He's a little startled to not be bloodied, but there's plenty of that to go around. Assessment finished, he moves to Khaishan,

"Do you think you can make it inside?" his voice is warm, now, but still very much the Lord Commander tone, looking after his men, his wounded. There are practical considerations to work through-- he's not leaving Khaishan but it's still cold enough he'll freeze out here, particularly considering it's possible for one or both of them to go into shock at any moment.

Get back inside. Get to a fire. Take stock of their wounds. From there, he can figure out what is next. One step at a time. He is not thinking about whether or not any of Khaishan's wounds are mortal, whether that's even possible.

It is taking effort, not to think about it.

[desertdancer]

"I... think so." Khaishan managed after a moment. He knew he could, for all his body protested the strain of doing anything at the moment. And luckily the doorway here was large enough for him to fit in even in this shape, a few of the main hallways large enough for him to struggle his way towards one of the entrances to his den proper if necessary. At the very least they needed to be inside, out of the snow and wind. They could figure things out from there.

It took several tries for the dragon to heave himself upright, breathing pitched from the pain of movement, especially with the way one wing was dragging useless to one side, leaving a trail of blood and feathers as he was struggling towards the door. It took more focus than he wanted to admit to keep feet under him, more a quick stumble than anything as each time he was putting weight on a front limb, it was threatening to give under him. At the very least he managed to make it inside before he tumbled again in the foyer, landing on his side with a pained rumble.