Swiftbeak awaited Al's response with trepidation; it could easily be a confirmation of his fears, or outright hostility, and as the monk seemingly pondered the gryphon's words he found himself looking for any excuse to break the tense silence. That opportunity presented itself when Morr emerged, wandering through the hives of the garden; even if he had not see the knight's armour glinting in the sun, he had become to grow accustomed to the steady, low buzz of Beezia's servants, and the slightest change in tone or volume alerted him as surely as a tripwire.<br/><br/>"Brother... Morr?" he asked warily, voice raising to carry itself above the din of the busy insects. "Are you unwell?"