ORIGIN

He kept his desire to destroy more rocks vaguely in check, patience winning the day as he listened to his new companions. That chaos, though, seemed to ripple down his body and escape out the slowly lashing tail, which though finned and distinctly draconic, was moving like a cat's.

Spinnaker informed him they were in a cave, first of all. The word, to a blinking Valkhound, generated ideas of rock and dark, damp places. He looked up, and around; it wasn't dark, but it was sure damp, and there was rock every which way. Two out of three sounded good enough, so--cave it was. He accepted this.

This impression was only strengthened, increasing his confidence, when Mossie agreed. The All-Cave, he thought to himself, echoing her words in his mind and sealing them into memory. He then waited as she stopped, mired in her own not-so-reliable form of memory.

Power, water... twinkling stuff and glowing colors, creystals... Manticore's fins lifted, his demeanor shifting from half-impatient to alertly interested. "Can we... see it? Can you--show?" he requested, taking a hopeful step toward her.

He hadn't been here long, but he was already bored of this place--rock and water, water and rock, as far as the eye could see. Whatever the place Mossie described sounded far, far better.

"Maybe there are... answers, there? Or--destruction," he reasoned. If not--they could always destroy the glowing stuff and crystals, right?

Manticore was still mostly unaware of the existence of his wings. Swimming, walking, that had come naturally to him--but as Mossie spoke of a journey to the center of the All-Cave, he--like Spinnaker--tested out his feet. One paw raised, then the other, curved claws settled carefully back into the rock.

Spinnaker's comment that one could only destroy so many pebbles, however, put his back up. It seemed like a challenge, a limitation being imposed, and something in Manticore bristled at it. He turned, a low growling hiss escaping him, and tried to immediately (as if it mattered) "prove" the cormorant wrong by incinerating more rocks. This did not go well, and in fact a moment later--so quickly that it wasn't clear exactly what had happened--Manticore had flailed and bolted back into the water. Steam rose in billowing sheets, and he plunged down face-first, extinguishing the fires that had decided to ignite the Oil of his own skin. Had there been no water there, he might have returned to his chrysalis as quickly as he'd emerged.

He stood there for a moment before turning, head coming up. Ultraviolet gaze found Mossie, Manticore's drifting attention shifting to her rather than bothering with his own state or what had just happened. (He'd already forgotten Spinnaker's accidental 'challenge.') "Which way do we go?" he asked, careful to enunciate the words.

Talking was still new to him, after all.

He came wading back out, firing Spinnaker a guilty look. "I was on fire," he admitted, keeping his voice low as if somehow this meant that Spinnaker maybe wouldn't hear. Manticore half didn't want to be heard, that was for sure.

But he sped up, trotting forward, still unaware that his wings were wings and had a use; so far they just seemed like pointless extra limbs perched atop his shoulders, getting in the way. So he headed after Mossie, like Spinnaker assuming that since she said "this way," she must know where she was going.