[Initially Julien hears the squeak as yapping, because that's what he expects to hear from even a very dolled-up Yorkie terrier. But it's not bouncing around like they do, and when he's paying attention he processes visuals very very fast. Also, there's words, and that's pretty important.
Also, alarming. Julien sees what's happened and, with the sense that his stomachs are dropping, immediately remembers all too recent events. He doesn't remember being transformed into the daspletosaurus, but he remembers being set loose with only the vaguest sense that something had been done to him; he remembers the frustration of it, and the hunters, and it's bad. It's bad. It's really bad.
All unconsciously his body language changes; he stands more upright with his neck extended, looking very far down, his raised foot hits the dirt and clenches at it, his feathers pull closer to his skin and flatten out. Julien's eyes widen and all his pupils dilate and contract at different rates, as more eyes manifest in the air around him. He pants with an open beak, wings opening enough to hit the walls on either side.]
I don't understand. [Julien's breathing hard but steadily, trying to get hold of himself; it's not the Prince, it can't be the Prince. He doesn't realize how obvious it is that he's disturbed, though even his voice sounds different; rougher, lower, less human, and more the woohh of a troubled dove.] He's dead.
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Also, alarming. Julien sees what's happened and, with the sense that his stomachs are dropping, immediately remembers all too recent events. He doesn't remember being transformed into the daspletosaurus, but he remembers being set loose with only the vaguest sense that something had been done to him; he remembers the frustration of it, and the hunters, and it's bad. It's bad. It's really bad.
All unconsciously his body language changes; he stands more upright with his neck extended, looking very far down, his raised foot hits the dirt and clenches at it, his feathers pull closer to his skin and flatten out. Julien's eyes widen and all his pupils dilate and contract at different rates, as more eyes manifest in the air around him. He pants with an open beak, wings opening enough to hit the walls on either side.]
I don't understand. [Julien's breathing hard but steadily, trying to get hold of himself; it's not the Prince, it can't be the Prince. He doesn't realize how obvious it is that he's disturbed, though even his voice sounds different; rougher, lower, less human, and more the woohh of a troubled dove.] He's dead.