Gwystyl settled upon a a pile of rubble, absently rubbing at an apple that he had retrieved from his bag. Biting into it and crunching noisily, he listened to what the Baron might have to say, oblivious (or uncaring) of Dimitri's own foray into realms dark and full of delcious things. The rat withdrew his head a moment later, the remnants of a wayfarer's cake upon his muzzle, and listened to what the human had to say with an intensity matching his Master's and quite disconcerting to any taking notice of him.
In a voice deep and chiding (although sounding like nothing more that chittering to any other), Dimitri chastised his Master 'And just what might we be wanting to do here, Master. The smell of Death abounds, and not the delectible smell of a battlefield or a three day old dead man either. Oh, for the simple life, before you 'raised me up', as you are so wont to say...Skittering about, fornicating with the ladies,eating what I want, where I want. Freedom...'
Gwystyl laughed as he replied 'Yes, you did have it good, Old Boy. Terriers, Rat-Catchers, oh, and I musn't forget the Owls. A rat could make a very good time of it, what wit Owls about. Why, I feel right horrid about what I did to you, Old Bean. Let me know the moment you want to go clamboring back amongst the sewers and offal of the world...the very moment.'
It was an old argument that had taken on the tone of a monologue. Of course, as Gwystyl's Power grew, and Dimitri's in turn, the rat had advanced in intelligence at an extraordinary rate, and his worrisome nature had receded. Truth be known, he was having the time of his life (which had, by now, grown far past any other rat that he had ever known...), and wouldn't exchange it for anything. Except for the bit about hunting Dragons, that is...
