"He's not. . . He's made of cloth."

"Teeth are real," Sal grumbles, tearing the bandage he was wrapping off of the roll. He flexes his fingers experimentally. "Didn't get m' tendons or anything, if anyone cares."

"Where did you say you found him again?" Cher tilts her head this way and that, pacing around the behemoth currently standing in the middle of them. She turns to the Imperial, Rual, nervously tapping his talons against the cave floor.

"He came to us," He explains, wings shifting uncomfortably. "Forced his way into the hatchery and wouldn't leave. He'd be a wonderful guardian if, well. . ." He could speak. He wasn't made of stitching. His eyes didn't look like that. "He wasn't so. . . Odd."

The woven imperial seems to be growing restless, looking from dragon to dragon as if he was searching for a remembered face. It huffs.

"When we tried to get him out, he went berserk. Took care never to harm any hatchlings, though." Rual muses. "He left on his own accord, after inspecting every dragonet."

"Fascinating." Cher mumbles, taking several steps back to gaze up at the creature, expression troubled. "Who are you looking for?"

Once a beloved toy and companion, Archie was brought to life through blood and necessity. He now searches restlessly for the young dragon he was given life in order to protect, his only goal an instinctual one; to find the hatchling who once loved him so.