He watches the heap stir and shift into some semblance of coherent shape; he dimly recognizes her in that way he's getting better at telling humans apart - the ways he never bothered with back in his own world. Oft times they were specks far below, living out their lives, fleeting and barely pinging his curiosity.

This one had the... horse. Unsettling and uncanny ungulates. He's glad they went extinct in his world; he wishes they would here too. Maybe then Thedas will have the sense to start domesticating raptors.

He catches the glint of cunning on her face and very nearly smiles behind his muzzle.

"You have a plan." A statement, not a question. Any idea, however deranged, is a welcome respite from the itch of his own drying blood, and the stink of a budding infection.

"How far do you need me to angle my head...?"

He'll suffer any pain or indignity he needs to get free. He'll burn this place down if it's the last thing he ever does.