"I-I'm fine," Prometheus panted, ignoring how he could feel his core start to heat up. Dragons, he found, had a unique way of venting excess heat, where they pooled it into their 'core' to be safely discharged as a bolt of plasma. Prometheus had no idea how they did it, it was pure instinct even with him, but he had a feeling that by the end of this flight he'd have to breathe out a lot of plasma just so he didn't dangerously overheat.

Yet, a few more wingbeats, and he could feel a cramp start to creep up his shoulder muscles. Argh, damn it. He hadn't exercised in so long, his poor body just couldn't keep up. He grunted in frustration.

"Okay, I'm not fine," he admitted breathlessly, "My wings're tired."