Handy felt no pity, however, as anger slowly reclaimed its rightful place as his fear finally died down. "Where's your big words now?" he asked in mocking repetition of the dragon's own question. A thought came to him, eyeing the splattering of draconic blood on the dirt beneath them and the dragon's own wounds. 'No one can see me here, he's helpless, and he's a dead man anyway after all this.' He licked his lips, the fear forgotten and anger down to a low simmer as an instinct bellowed within him, urging him to indulge it. 'Maybe... just a pint...' He reached up to his helmet. Just as his palm covered the slit of his helm, Ferix acted, turning and spewing a jet of flame that forced Handy's vampiric instincts into action as he fled the flames, covering a dozen feet of distance in an instant as a wailing screech pierced the air. He blinked, breathing heavily as the jet of flame missed him. He knew he was making that noise, but he wasn't doing it consciously. There was something within him that came out and took over, and this was the second time it had happened within the past half hour. The implications of what he truly was left him feeling uneasy, and he wondered what the true nature of the beast he had within him was... and what would happen if he didn't keep it under lock and key like he had been doing.