Genrit watches the coins hit the ground, slowly using his tongue to retrieve each of them. It's not until he has already had a few that he realises the nature of the situation. Is he really so desperate as to accept charity? And from a half breed, no less. He's at the lowest point in his life, having only just come back from the dead, and he's already being picky. Although...

He slides his snout across the ground, resting it in front of one of the coins. He breathes in deeply, searching for a scent of any sort. No, it's not his. At least, it's not been his for a while. His eyes flick around the cave a few times. Just how long has it been?

Her voice rouses him from his thoughts and he returns his attention to her. He grumbles in response to her retort and absent mindedly consumes the coin he tried to gather a scent from. He doesn't dignify it with a response, instead just listening to her quietly. Drachiathoryx, huh? He sighs slowly and grinds a claw against an intact chunk of ice, digging into it loudly.

He mulls over her words and watches her. His eyes are harsh and critical, clearly judging her despite her kind actions towards him. After gathering himself he responds, his words slow and methodical. [color=6ecff6]"Genrit'khaath. I will tolerate you for now."[/color] He grabs a handful of crushed ice and holds it in front of his face, analysing it. [color=6ecff6]"All I remember is cold. Sudden, bone chilling cold. And then a face. Smug and mocking. Blue scales. Then..."[/color]

Genrit crushes the ice further in his claws and wipes it against the stone beneath him. [color=6ecff6]"Then the nothingness of death."[/color]