With his strength slowly but surely returning, Mauja found himself ambling further and further from the strange, soft glowing room, his natural curiosity leading him along. That, and the hunt for whatever critters might live down here. The better he became, the less reason Irma gave him for not feeding her. And besides, she was right—she was better at warming the egg than he was. His hair might insulate it and prevent the heat from dissipating as quickly, but in the long run, he just wasn't as apt at incubating eggs. It was nothing short of a miracle it had survived its parents abandonment, and the long haul back to safety. So maybe, just maybe, whatever was in there was worthy of Irma's love. It wasn't that he was jealous, he just wasn't sure what the point was. The only thing they had was that ancient spirit's words, and for some reason Irma had put stock in them now of all times. Why change that which is not flawed, or broken? But she'd made up her mind, owned the decision which could've caused so much friction if he'd acted without her, and while Mauja thought it'd serve them right to hatch a reptile or something, she was adamant it was an owl. What kind, she had no idea.

The soft ground underhoof gradually changed to the rocky corridors of the sanctuary, the echo of his steps ringing through the tunnels. There was no way to sneak here, and he wasn't interested in sneaking anyway. .. well, maybe he was, because he did, after all, want to be left alone, but skulking about the least stealth-friendly place seemed a surer way to attract attention. So Mauja ambled along at his leisurely pace, the dull thud of his fever headache flaring at the forefront of his skull with each rhythmic shift of his body. Whoever invented illness should be dragged from their grave and murdered all over again. He hated the lethargy, the dumbness twining itself around his brain, and the weird thought patterns he took on. He hated it almost as much as the feeling of his lacerations straining against their scabs, itching and aching. It was nearly enough to drive him to roll on the floor just to soothe his nerves, but after all his painstaking hours spent rinsing the wounds, he knew that getting these small pebbles and the dirt off everyone's feet into them wouldn't be worth it.

The darkness of the corridor opened up into a prismatic cathedral, light washing through glass-like structures, shimmering and glowing softly with vibrant colors—a small touch of the upperworld, reminiscent of sunlight. After days of the murky darkness of his moist, blue-glowing abode the white light was harsh on his eyes. He squinted, white lashes filtering the relative glare, and ambled on. Most of the panels reminded him of those by the heart itself, though paler, less furnace-like; most went it pastel shades, some simply filled with light, some reflecting like sunlight on the cold snow's crust... Breathing softly Mauja strolled along, the wondrous display banishing his awareness of the headache, of his raw throat, even the itchiness of his healing wounds. Sometimes his muzzle trailed along the cold panels, either by mistake or intent; he wasn't always sure when a wall ended or began, not with the light biting his eyes and playing tricks on his mind with its dazzling display.

And so, when he was trailing his nose along one wall a space abruptly showed itself, he halted, curious. He could see it, now that he was close to it. He gauged its width. Was he slim enough to squeeze through?

I'll feed you to the owl if you get stuck.
But she was more amused than anything. Huffing to himself, glad for the abundance of affection she was showing lately (it seemed that his near-death experience and their brief separation had loosened something up in her, or maybe she just hadn't recovered enough to control herself?) he shoved his nose into the space. Ample enough room for his head, and.. he stopped. The last echo of his step died away, but the sound of hoof hitting the strange crystal floor lingered, echoing around the vast room in front of his eyes—it was hard to tell the rhythm when the sound never ceased. Curiosity tugged at his feet, though he snapped halfheartedly at the wall as it caught a scab on his flank and tore it open. A slow trickle of red blood filled it, threatened to spill over, but he paid it no heed as he emerged into something far vaster than any cavern he'd ever been in before. The ceiling stretched into the wash of white, heavenly light, dust motes danced in the air, and the walls glowed with their strange display of color. And something was in there with him.

Not on the floor. One sweep of his gaze revealed nothing standing upon the ground, and so, naturally, his eyes began to climb. Ledges, both shadowed and lit, lined the vast rotunda, and there, as light and spry as a gazelle was a young child, slowly ascending to heaven.

Mauja couldn't decide if it was the epitome of stupidity, or something beautiful.