Cherion waddled. There was really no other word for it. After a week of eating what essentially amounted to wet gravel and disappointment, his stomach was currently experiencing a state of aggressive, buttery euphoria. He'd polished off the "apology breakfast" and now he felt like a very satisfied sleepy tick.
He reached Zarius's study. His confidence was currently high on a sugar-and-protein spike, so instead of the hesitant, "please don't kill me" tap of previous days, he gave the wood a jaunty, rhythmic rap. He didn't wait for a formal summons. He pushed the door open just a crack and peeked in.
Inside, Flio was standing by the desk, looking like he'd just been put through a spiritual laundromat. He was pale, his collar was slightly wilted, and he was nodding frantically at something Zarius was saying in a low, terrifyingly calm voice.
"Oh, am I interrupting something?" Cherion asked, his head popping through the gap. "I can always come back later."
