kings are dying like flies

The longer he remained awake, the more he was becoming used to the pain of bruises and sprains and broken ribs. He certainly didn't feel up to running around at the moment, but he was slowly coming more alert, and he was able to ease aching limbs beneath him to rest on them. He didn't think anything was broken in his legs, but he'd definitely sprained his right hock and sliced open one forepaw on something, and all four legs were a mass of bruising and sodden fur. The big muscle along his gaskin was knotted up where it had hit something, and he though it was probably a very good thing that he hadn't a tail because it probably would have been broken. Small favors. "I thought I'd try it on for size. Turns out I don't much care for it," he answered her dryly.

Blinking leaf green eyes open again he eyed her through the dark and the salt-water stinging his eyes. "I most certainly do have a name. Do you?" He wasn't sure he wanted to give his surname out at the moment, given the animosity many held for the Abraxas, being that he was in no condition to beat a hasty retreat if she were one of those who'd like to see an Abraxas dead, and he was still rather too muddled to be thinking clearly so he withheld his name altogether. He groaned, stretching that knotted up leg. "I hurt too much to be in heaven, but surely hell has no demons as pretty as you, my dear. So I can only assume that I'm still alive."