Larksong Grotto death blossom

Could he walk? He wasn’t sure. Gathering his long limbs beneath him — a tenuous infrastructure at best — he rose shakily to his feet. He didn’t even remember sitting down again. Shaking his head like an irascible colt, Erebus’ scion forced his brimstone eyes to focus on the mottled girl. He nodded, prepared to follow wherever she wished to lead him, tall hellhound ears stirring faintly atop his battered crown. A roll of broad shoulders produced one unsteady stride, then another, and finally he walked himself through and out of the miasma — though his hindquarters seemed hardpressed to enter into a working relationship with his forelimbs, and his gait was overtly ataxic.