For Swiftbeak, those three months had been a combination of long stretches of routine with brief moments of triumph. Though each day was mostly the same, close to a month after he had arrived the creature's wings were finally freed, less they atrophy from disuse. He still had not outright flown since then, but he had been stretching them daily, exercising them; still, he was acutely aware that any attempt to take flight without permission could be seen as a black mark on his trustworthiness. And while he no longer felt the impending danger of being branded anathema wherever he went, he still very much felt the burden of his obvious corruption.<br/><br/>If nothing else, he had been steadily lengthening his metaphorical leash, spending more time away from Al and wandering the grounds. The guards had largely gotten used to him, and as he entered the dining hall he was greeted neither with open voice, nor disquieting stares- He even had a table still set up, and much to his delight already found it laden with the haunch of some four-legged beast when he'd arrived.<br/><br/>He glanced about the dining hall; Mary was not looking anywhere near his direction, meaning he was free to indulge himself. The flurry of tearing, biting and swallowing that ensued was one of his rare chances to indulge the twisted instincts his transformation had brought upon him, and though he always ultimately felt guilty for doing so, the hapless piece of meat before him was a harmless outlet for his, for lack of a better word, bloodlust.