It's the voice that shakes him. Not even the tone, divorced from those parched self-praises he knew and the face of light. Vast flared wings shrivel and fall away, take the light with them and Draven's posture slackens. The world hasn't left...half-believed it would.

"...I was hoping I was wrong." Draven pushes away his pride and hitches the blade back on his belt. His way of apologizing to a man, halfhearted as it is - he doesn't have the strength to do more. "I'm seeing what's not here now...the withdrawal's becoming a madness."

So yeah, he mistook Davesprite. Draven looks down the street, over a little, but the light, the yellows, remain as faint trailing sears.

"Let's keep going, then - we can't be far. Should you still wish to, you will hear on the way."

Draven explaining himself and his life story to strangers isn't weird for him at all. At home, though, it had more purpose - a warning, a challenge, another try that someone may care...but whether Davesprite chooses to listen is another story. Draven won't mind if he doesn't - it'll be partially coherent anyway.