"I have ample time to adjust to it..." he admitted, sheepishly. "But none of that time has been indoors. Your patience is kind." He turned to the monks dutifully cleaning the floor. "As is yours."<br/><br/>Once they had cleared away and Al had prepared him a table, Swiftbeak lifted back to his feet and slowly, with all the grace he could muster, began walking between tables, turning down the aisles with his long body; he bumped a few more chairs on the way, but none of them fell. Success!<br/><br/>When at last he arrived at his table he studied it curiously; he certainly could not simply pull up a chair. He first sat at it on his haunches, but it barely came up to his chest. So, he laid down upon his belly, forelegs stretched out beneath the table, and rested his head upon it; it was a perfect fit, and a hum of contentment accompanied a blissful closing of his eyes while he let the table bear the weight of his head. Contrary to his walk down the hall, he seemed rather unaware of the strange looks he was getting.<br/><br/>"So. What is for dinner, if I may ask?"