"I am afraid I am unskilled at this," Kédra says, half rueful and half amused as he turns his head to see who spoke.

"Greetings, childt of the Gedri," he adds in a light baritone once his gaze settles on the youth. He stays where he's hunched, perched on his hind legs to keep the specks of molten glass on his claws from burning anything, wings slightly extended for balance.