He landed heavily, wings still flared out, fins and spines erected like hackles. He felt the adrenaline coursing through him, and it was somehow both intensely unpleasant and a deep, instinctive thrill that shot through the core of who he was.
Ultraviolet eyes lifted to Mossie--to her careening around, shouting. Though he showed no emotion, to begin with, his tail flicked.
He then looked at Spinnaker, whose courage could now never be doubted. Despite a lack of massive talons or muscle, the bird had fought a being of solid stone. And--though with help--had won. He looked at the rocks, then Mossie again.
Spinnaker glides back down to the ground next to Mossie, safely away from the crumbling golem. At least that was over with, with only minor injuries.
"As cool as that was, I would rather be more careful and not run into more of those. I'm a bit sore now," he complains, stretching one of his bruised wings. "I've had enough magic stealing and fire and doom for one day."
Spinnaker was injured. At least, that's how Manticore saw it: his wings were sore, which given Manticore's complete unfamiliarity with real injury, may as well have been life-threatening.
He padded over, wondering at the unfamiliar sensation of... worry? Concern? for the bird. Most things were new to him, but this one sat just as uneasy in his gut as its cousin emotion, the fear that had spiked in him as he'd fought the golem.
As a housecat might prod a wounded sparrow, he lifted an enormous paw to attempt to gently poke at Spinnaker's torso, staring down at him. It wasn't malice, it was worry, he just... didn't know what to do. Therefore: prod, prod.
When Mossie spoke, Manticore thankfully placed the paw back on the ground and turned, peering at her. Most of what she said simply confused him--eating magic (he couldn't even SEE magic, and he even looked around to double-check--how could he EAT it?), things being in her brain, think-thonking, 'creatures going all wacky.' Most of this left him standing, staring blankly, his fresh brain ringing with confusion.
At length, and after much deliberation and hesitation, he chose exactly one question to ask in a puzzled rumble:
Spinnaker was fine, of course, and Manticore's gentle prodding quickly became an annoyance. Luckily the Valkhound didn't touch anything tender. "I'm alright, I'm alright. I'm not dead, and I don't plan on being anytime soon," he complains.
He also turned when Mossie began to speak. Most of her very impressive speech went right in one ear and out the other. Spinnaker thought he was spinning with how fast her words came. "I... uh, don't think I understand."
Manticore slowly lowered himself to his haunches, sitting upright like a giant, scaled lion. He then leaned in toward Spinnaker, dropping his voice to a harsh near-whisper--as close as he could get, this giant child who'd never whispered in his life--as his glowing eyes tracked Mossie's departing form.
"Normal," even to him, sounded somehow rude. And instinctively he knew it'd be wrong, anyway. One of them was spindly and tiny and feathered, and another furry and gold, and he himself was hulking and scaly and stuff. "Normal" was nowhere to be found in there. But-... Something about the way she spoke was finally making him wonder if that were, indeed, how the average Gembound talked. Not that he was particularly eloquent, but at least Spinnaker made sense to him.
He took a breath, looking to Spinnaker.
His face scrunched up.
Ultraviolet gaze slid over the cormorant again.
That unfamiliar worry had given way to relief, which was... a relief, really. It was good. Oh-! And-...
His eyes narrowed as he studied Spinnaker's wings. He had those, too, and he'd used them--hadn't he?--to briefly rise into the air. Spinnaker had done so, too, flapping at the golem.
Otherwise, he simply sat there, waiting alongside Spinnaker (presumeably) for whatever Mossie was going to do. She'd said she'd "berightback," right? So... Manticore sat and waited.
Spinnaker watches with a flat expression as Mossie yells and runs off. Well, someone was excited. And Spinnaker wasn't sure if she was looking forward to whatever she had in store.
He turns back to Manticore, listening to his half-whisper with eagerness. "I don't really know," is all he can offer, since he's just as new to everything as Manticore, and Mossie is the only thing the two of them have in common. "Is everything like this?" he fires back.
He sits there, listening, nodding when the Valkhound remarks about him feeling fine. But when the conversation turns to his wings, he spreads them out. "These? Uh, yeah wings. You have to pump them. Hard," he offers. That probably wasn't the best explination. "Like, you have to pull down, and then fold them to bring them back up? It's hard to explain."