He wakes a little bit at a time: the tip of the tail twitches; a foreclaw slips from its sheath; the spines on his back slowly raise one by one; his eyelids flutter, one and then the other, and then they open to see the sorcerer standing before him, arms folded, eyebrow raised, waiting.
The sorcerer responded, exasperated, "That's your opening question? Not, 'how did you know I'd be waking now, today, from my sixty-three year nap?', or 'how has the world changed since I've been asleep?', or even 'how did you find this, my secret lair?'."