The crocodile parts of him that remain are whining in sympathy for Asriel, stuck on the ground. Without asking permission, Waylon nudges him with a massive paw; rolls him back and forth, feels how slick and slimy Asriel's scales feel.

He should probably be put in some sort of water body at some point, or he'll dry out. Fish jerky is good, but normally Waylon's is dead first.

He bats Asriel's tail gently, always conscious of his strength and even moreso now that he could crush someone accidentally without even thinking of it.

"How do you move?"