"GET OFF OF ME!" he roared, his voice slightly slurred as his tongue lolled over his broken jaw. He really shouldn't be shouting with that injury. Handy didn't reply, simply clinging for dear life onto the bountiful spines of the dragon's back which conveniently poked out through the back of its cuirass, having made a desperate lunge for the dragon after, regrettably, using some random griffon as a stepping stone to reach. There was nothing quite like the exhilarating rush one got when one slowly realized what he was doing was balls out insane and that he could end up killing himself because he misjudged a jump. However, it turned out that thestral blood made Handy take stupid risks. It worked, but that didn’t mean he should encourage himself.