It’s hard to impress a wrinkled representative of one of the oldest extant reptilian lineages.
A tortoise gains the “I am hoary with the ancient wisdom of a species already deeply embedded in time before you existed” attitude about the second it loses its egg tooth, and just gets more so as it ages.
If I were slightly more inclined to magical thinking, I would actually suspect tortoises of existing in small temporal slowdown pockets, where time passes, slow and stately, as a buzzing, booming, confusion of immoderate youth species blurs past outside.
