He had been flying for what seemed an eternity, again- His wings ached once more to rest, though when he'd taken off he thought he would be happy if he never touched ground again. That still held true, in a way; as much as he would like to say he couldn't bear seeing the men he did not die with, in truth it was the pain of his wounded claw that delayed his descent. Unlike leaping into the fray to begin with, the pain he faced was not something noble, nor something to which he was spurred to act; it was his choice to fly, and his justification to Morr only hid his desire to feel the sky again. Now, though, it was time to pay the price for that deception.<br/><br/>He glided in, circling, slowing his descent as much as he could. He aimed for the outside of the keep in the vast expanse of shattered ground, knowing that it would be more painful than the flat stone of the keep, but the penalty for missing his landing would not be impacting a wall. The rushing ground rose before him, and he extended his hindlegs first, as he always did; coming as close to a stop as he could without falling vertically, he touched his paws to the ground. At once his momentum threw his body forward, and in the instinctual motions of landing he could not bring himself to use only one talon.<br/><br/>The wounded limb shrieked with the agony of torn skin and muscle, and a wave of throbbing, radiant pain echoed far up his leg. It was all he could not to cry out, but as he seethed through the pain he was overcome with relief; he was on the ground, again, and need no longer dread it. Limping back to the keep, his head was low to avoid eye contact with the guards; he was new here, and had done little to prove himself, and to see disdain for weakness in their eyes was not something he would risk. His body had been twisted by daemon magic, after all, and if it could not serve in combat, what use would the soldiers here see in him?<br/><br/>He took a brief glance about for Sir Morr, and saw nothing of him. It only now occurred to him that he had likely missed their orders on his flight, and he should get caught up on- Wait. What was that smell?<br/><br/>Fresh blood. Dead livestock.<br/><br/>The gryphon hunched low to the ground and slowly began creeping towards the stables; on instinct, of course, as he wouldn't do something so subversive as steal the carcasses. Still, with the butchered animals lying there, he couldn't help but wonder if anyone intended to preserve them, or simply dispose of them- To that effect, he approached the nearest guard.<br/><br/>"May I eat those?" he asked, gesturing towards the dead beasts.