He's just. . .floating. The sky above him, the sea around him. If it is a sea - he knows nothing of the terms or geography of this realm.
He remembered hating water as a hatchling, and on to a dragonlet when his wings outpaced his body in a growth spurt and dragged him down. It wasn't until Delbin convinced Cyril to help him that Spyro was willing to try again.
And he had liked it, for awhile, he thinks. His body had evened out, though his wings were now currently too small. But now, even with sapphire water keeping him afloat, feeling silky against his scales and the sun keeping him warm-
It was like watching everything through scraped and clouded glass. He could sorta see past the scratches but there was too much in the way to fully feel it.
It was kinda like being numb.
So he lay on his back with his wings spread out and just . . . floated.
He vaguely wonders how the other dragons are. He remembers that he should be going through his growth spurt in the next few years, with his hind legs growing stronger, and his tail outpacing everything else so that he could walk on two rather than fours. His wings will be the last thing to fully grow. But this knowledge is distant, fleeting.
He hears Elora's laugh as Hunter splashed her, and Hunter's own sputters as the faun gets him back. But Spyro can't bring himself to join - and not because he doesn't exactly know them. He's usually a friendly dragon, up for any game.
He just. . .doesn't want to. He doesn't want to do much of anything.
Sparx trills a purr from where he's napping on Spyro's chest, safe from the water. A familiar warmth floods through him, from head frill to claw tips.
Maybe he's not fully numb then.
"Hey! That's cheating!"
Hunter's yowl rouses him, and he looks over to see Elora shove him down into the water, presumably again.
Part of him wants to smile, even huff a laugh, but it's like the band is still clamped around his muzzle. He watches blankly.
At least he's not as scared. He does keep worrying that he'll wake up back in the cage. But for now. . .he's trusting that this is real. That he's okay, that the sun is actually there, shining warmth on him. That Spark is before him, twitching in his sleep.
He doesn't hope, but he trusts.
Hunter comes up, sputtering and slashing. He glares at Elora, ears pinned back and water streaming down his muzzle. "You're a dirty cheater," he growls over her laughter.
"Me? Cheating?" She has puts a paw to her chest in mock exasperation. "Says the cheetah who drags people into races."
Hunter rolls his eyes. There's the gentle sound of the sea rocking, and the scant sounds of battle in the Breezebuilder's territory, if one listens hard enough. He turns around to look at Spyro, who is just drifting, flat on his back.
He looks back to Elora and purses his lips.
Her eyes become round with concern. "Should- should we invite him to join us."
After a beat, Hunter replies, "No. He probably isn't used to people, and he's taking this rough. Dragging him into sudden activity probably isn't the best idea."
Elora sinks into the water with a sigh. He knows that she knows he's right - sometimes her empathy can be too clouding. While Hunter's more relaxed, somewhat serious self can see the better option in a situation.
It's complex contradictions that make them, and make them work so well together.
"So. . .what should we do?" She finally asks. She's sunk to her chin, her green leaf dress looking teal under the water.
"What we've been doing." Hunter keeps his voice warm. "Being kind, and patient." He follows her gaze as she looks back to Spyro.
"Just being there, I guess."