"Stay," Comes a reedy voice from the cold stone floor.

Stay, comes the whisper in your head. Your instincts tempt your will to obey.

At your massive clawed feet is your master, the dungeon lord, like a dropped doll. His pale hair revolts from his normally tidy braids and spills around his head like water. He squirms in weak lament on his side as you watch him with a cocked head.

Thistle mewls again, "Dragon, stay." He does not usually command you like this. He looks pliable, fragile like glass, sweating though his body feels cold at your feet.

"I need you... to stay with me. No searching tonight," He adds weakly and reaches for one of your claws (It's nearly the length of his whole arm; and much thicker). The lord doesn't touch other beings much, but if he notices the prick of surprise twitching in your talon he does not pay it any mind.

Thistle feels like hell. If not for his goal, he would wish for nothing more than his dragon's solid claw to spear through his heart. (How close is he to finding Delgal? How long has it been since he asked the lion to freeze time? How old is he now?)

Misery sinks into the little elf like slime. It saturates his every thought. Why wouldn't Delgal stay? If anyone else were to leave him, his corrupted heart may break for good. His dragon is all he has.

"My Dragon," He mumbles reverently, his words feeble and tense like they're being wrenched from his body, "Sleep tonight... here. I sense no danger in the dungeon. I... need you here." His lilac eyes do not meet yours, but they look vulnerably up at your monstrous chimera form.