Emet-Selch is tired. He's been tired ever since the clash against that strange girl and her strange machines. Although sleeping and eating regularly has helped somewhat, he can tell that it's not fully replenishing the Bios he used in order to deal a devastating blow against the Grimm. He needs a more direct source...or a direct method of obtaining it.

Thus while he sits cross-legged, shoulders slumped, before an audience of animal spirits, trying to muster the energy to recite a tale from his long, long memory, his gaze strays longingly to the berries and acorns that have been gathered for the deer and owl.

"I had a familiar long ago - Grani is its name - who consented to bear me on its back after a gruelling battle of attrition..."

He listens to the whispers of the spirits as he collects water. Again, he's tempted to take a sip for himself, but he slaps the impulse away and tries to focus on their words. He's not sure what to think of this girl who would be Sovereign. He's tempted to ignore the whole matter altogether. It's none of his business, after all, these petty mortal grievances. They can live, die, and know the consequences on their own.

But the water is so very tempting... He swallows thickly as he carries a gourd of it to water the Grove.

"...What does any of this have to do with me?" he mutters when he thinks no-one is listening.

More bears. Emet-Selch eyes these ones tiredly but they don't seem as inclined to trail after him like their sea-born ilk. Or so he thinks.

There is one that seems to take a liking to him. It bumps its gem-studded head against his hand every now and then, seeking a headpat. Emet-Selch reluctantly acquiesces, gently rubbing his fingers over the bits of fur he can find amidst its rocky skin.

"Please tell me this will be over soon."

Emet-Selch listens quietly to the story initially. But the similarities eventually prove too much. He inches away, out of the crowd, hoping that his exit is discreet. He seeks out the back of the crowd of Otherworlders and spirits, far enough away that the storyteller's voice is distant and indistinct. There, he exhales slowly and rubs his temples.

Similar, but not the same. Of course it isn't the same. But the image of the stars falling and his home crumbling is burnt into his mind's eye, seared into his soul's memory forever.

He's not really interested in a repeat of the world-ending threat that nearly destroyed Etheirys. He's had enough of being a hero for one lifetime.

I'm open to other scenarios, just shoot me a PM. o/