So the young noble was older than he had at first appeared, but still fresh-faced and shielded from the workings of the world. That jewel at his ear was brilliant enough to attract the blindest of bandits -- and Cyrus was obviously not as experienced with the sword as he thought. Rulan paused a moment, unsure whether this had really been a good idea. There was only so much of youthful incompetence he could take.

"I've abused a loophole in my contract with the Dragon," he explained with a fangy smirk. "I can continue to live in human form as long as I'm near someone of moral worth who has shared responsibility for my actions. If I wander too far from you, I'll go back to paws and wings. If I kill a human being, both of us -- you and I -- will become winged lions, no matter how far apart we are. You've cosigned my contract; if I fall, so do you." His eyes narrowed. "So it's in your best interest not to lose sight of me, isn't it?"

Cyrus could only blame himself, Rulan mused with a grin. Only a fool would say words aloud when he had no clue what they meant. All this, a lifetime of strife and anger, for the sake of a feather.