"Easily managed. I'm sure there's a kindly citizen somewhere here that'll lend us a bit of line," So saying, he extends one foreleg, and executes the gryphonic version of a courtly bow, and thereby lowers one shoulder far enough that even a man lacking the use of one leg can probable scramble up onto his back, "Easy, now. Don't grab my ears, if you can help it."

Eventually, they get settled; Viktor sitting more on Skan's shoulders than his back, the massive shoulder-muscles bunched under his thighs as Skan's wings fold over Viktor's legs, hiding them from the knee down. He walks with an easy, rolling motion, smooth as a cat, and remarks upon the interesting features as they go along.

"...Of course the market used to go out farther, and there were a great number of food stalls right along the cliffside, before the disaster. I'm sure we'll see a shoring-up of the foundations there, soon— ah!" A weathered-looking old man is passing them by, and startles to be noticed by so large a creature. And then he seems to recognize what he's looking at and smiles wreathe his salt-marred face; he has a long coil of rope hung over one shoulder, "Sir, I am in need of a rope."

The man is only too eager to help, and it's only by physically pressing the bones into his hands that Skan is able to make the transaction more even, despite the effusive apologies that it is so poor a rope, and so old and faded in color, and that he could not do more to help.

Truly, it is hard, to be so beloved.