The gryphon said nothing in return, merely taking another long look towards the Temple before returning to his preening. It was not long before he had seemingly combed every loose feather from himself, after which he began tugging out healthier ones and carefully avoiding those reddened by his now drying blood. After he had amassed a small pile of plumage he dug out a small depression in the ground, carefully setting aside the grass and any weeds he'd pulled out; once the depression was roughly bowl-shaped he lined with the plant matter, and then diligently spread the feathers about it. The whole process took about 20 minutes, and when he was done he stood, walked a few paces away to put an appreciable difference between himself and the small pit, and again laid down, curling up tightly; though he was partially out from beneath the tarp overhead, the small nest he'd made was entirely beneath it.<br/><br/>"It is there, should you need it." he rumbled, eyes already shut and ears folded back against his head; he had scarcely laid down again before the rhythm of his breathing became his only motion.