Spira

Tyki felt glad to be off the Hollow. He wasn't used to riding astride a beast, as he'd never been in a position to ride chocobos. The closest he'd come was eating one. He'd found out later, from a news crier and definitely not the men who had traded him the cut, that it was likely a stolen racing bird and not an animal raised for meat. He thought, in retrospect, that it was a little stringy, but it was much better than what he'd eaten for the past few weeks. At least it wasn't scavenged.

"No," he said, scowling at sand-coloured dust clinging to the hems of his trouserlegs already. "Why?"