Veraxitoc had flown here at such speed, that he had actually had to fly to his own limit to slow himself down, and not hurt himself by hitting anything that he didn't see.
It was so much for him to process, and even at 2000 years old, he felt so overwhelmed.
He had only just come to terms with what he had done, and then the problem is churned right back up form him to deal with, along with a new problem.
Loreiaka came back, claiming to be Methusela's mother.
That had thrown everything to the wind for Veraxitoc. Because as he sat on Dragontop mountain, he pondered one prospect, and how to get around it.
He was Methusela's father.
It made sense. After all, Veraxitoc had agreed to have children with Loreiaka. She must have hidden the eggs before he killed her. That was the only explanation.
So where were the eggs?
It was all too much, and he felt sick. So sick. This feeling was alien. He wasn't ill but he felt sick. And it was worse the closer he was to the statue that the monks had placed here, long before he had slept atop this mountain.
No, not sick. Aggravated. Defensive, protective, alert. All of them thrown into one.
So as he dismantled the statue with his claws, he pondered on whether it was really right to do this.
