As both anons grab Raisen, he flails, splashing and reaching out for anything he can grab onto, claws scrabbling and helping haul himself up as they get him closer to the shore, sinking into the ground and gripping it in chunks that press against his whole hand, clawing his way onto solid ground as he coughs and chokes, spitting up what little water had gotten in before he held his breath, wet hair dragging down and covering his face as he arches a bit, defensive, wings waving to try and get the water off his soaked feathers, panting to try and catch any breath he can. He avoids wretching, blinking as he kneels, staring down, dripping, feathers permeated with liquid that would ground him from his right to the sky. It doesn't take long, however, for him to realize that the ground beneath his palms feels...different. The grass is softer, sharper, and everything else isn’t overwhelming, even the dirt feeling like a different concentration, healthier, softer. He can feel the magic humming through the place, different, as though it spoke a different language than anything else he was used to. He looks up, slowly, water running down his scars and dripping off his chin onto the ground, beholding the trees around the hot spring he had fallen out of, wind whispering and creatures twittering between branches, butterflies and songbirds and what he'd swear were what your typical fantasy novel would refer to as "faerie dragons", tiny creatures that certainly resembled a crossbreed between the fantastical forest charm and scaled reptilian destroyers. The sky feels like stained glass, the water sounds calm and smooth, the breeze carries air with a freshness he almost has trouble recognizing, soothing the water and sweat on his skin and helping it start to dry as he observes his new, unfamiliar, but known surroundings, looking around as he kneels before it.
