A man really doesn't have to talk. You can get plenty of fuckin' places in life without talking. Like outta this fuckin' bog, for example.

[Husk watches as Sampo turns into the... fucking purple raccoon. This is his fault. He asked for something carryable and he expected the noisy idiot to do anything even remotely sensible with that request. This is on him.

He heaves out a sigh, moving up with a solid, strong beat of his wings, finally getting Sampo free of the muck and them up in the air. ]

There's something fundamentally wrong with you.