"I suppose they don't," Piero agreed absently, eying a chocobo warily.  He could ride, more or less, but he hadn't expected he would be riding now.  His assumptions had been that they would walk, or run.  Hhonestly, the great war birds made him nervous.  "I... wait."<br/><br/>Something on one of the corpses caught his eye.  Trotting over, he knelt and examined a pouch at one combatants hip.  One marked with a woven emblam of a white feather.  Inside sat two flasks of blood-red liquid.  Corks popped as he sniffed the contents, and he nodded in satisfaction.  "Potions," he said with satisfaction, tucking them into his satchel.  "Ordallian brew, but potions.  I thought I recognized the mark."  He grinned at Lydalia.  "The dead certainly don't need them."<br/><br/>Taking a breath, he cautiously approached the chocobo once more.  It swiveled its head to watch him, huge eyes focusing in him above a huge axe-like beak.  No, he didn't like them.  It was paranoia, he was sure, but they always seemed to regard him as dinner.  And the clumsy way he mounted, pulling up so he sprawled across the saddle before struggling to get his leg over the back - didn't help.  The monster probably knew he wasn't comfortable in them, and was just waiting for a chance to strike.<br/><br/>Seating himself, he tried to look confident as he took his reins.  "Squire Lydalia," he called.  "Shall we go?"