As strong as Greater Nobles are, as much as Mayerling has dealt with water out of need, he too would rather avoid a soggy domain. The last thing he needs is to be sucked into the muck or washed away while asleep in his coffin come daybreak.

"Far better," Mayerling comments about the elevated outcropping. He carries them in that direction steadily, neither rushing nor dallying. Whatever roads this wild land had are long gone, but good dry land, even without constructed shelter, has its value. Better the safe spot in hand than to push their luck too close to dawn.

With greater care for his passengers, Mayerling coasts in to land, nearly halting in the air when only a foot off the ground. Then he beats his wings once backward to keep in place and set the coffin on dry ground. A moment later he stands next to it, his booted feet once more no more remarkable than their craftsmanship calls for.

"We flew roughly the direction we needed to," Mayerling informs them, "A mile south of the track we were on when the beast found us and farther west." All in all, not bad for an evening's flight.

He pauses, aware as ever that he is the reason they cannot travel much by day on foot. "This may be the best place to spend the day," Mayerling notes. As everyone else must, by necessity, live on his schedule, they too need rest.