He hadn't meant to get stuck in the crystal maze that long—but if ambling had one definite negative side, it was that he didn't pay attention when he did it. So after leaving the amazingly vast cavern with the distant roof, he had realized he had absolutely no idea where to go. He had a hunch his left side had been to the wall when he'd slipped through the crack (which, blessedly, didn't open more scabs on the way out), so he put his right side against the wall this time, and began the hopeless task of ambling back "home". Because in his short time underground, that glowing room full of odd moss and glowing trees had become as much home as anything had been the past season, last but not least because Irma had picked a tree there. For how long they'd have to stay there neither of them was sure of, but if it was anything like Irma's egg.. somewhere around less than half a season. It was a long time ago, and Irma had come at a turbulent time, when keeping track of time hadn't bee his top priority—not to mention he'd become sick at the end of the war, about the time she hatched, so the time leading up the invasion was somewhat of a sick-blur too.

Funny coincidence. Whenever he got his wounds terribly infected, he got an owl egg. Idly he wondered if it could happen a third time as well, but because of the whole nasty healing-and-getting-sick-on-top-of-that business, he wasn't too keen on finding out.

I'll still feed you to the owl if you die out there.
I'm planning on finding my way back, you know.
You'd better.

His throat didn't like the dryness of this place. Besides, he was starting to get a bit hungry again, and not to mention tired—he'd give a lot to be back beneath Irma's tree, to fold his legs and sink down in the soft moss.. sprawl on his side and sleep a while. It was a good thing Irma could wake him with a sharp mental slap, otherwise he wasn't sure how he would've let himself fall asleep, given his vulnerable state. But, alas—the soft, moist moss was far from this dazzling prismatic labyrinth, the iridescent crystals far from the florescent blue glow of the leaves. And, he was pretty sure this cave floor wasn't edible. A pity.

With his muzzle trailing the uneven walls, and his right side with its faint, dried streak of blood against it, he moved along, though with less of a spring in his step than he'd had when coming this way. Stubbornly he went along, realizing that, if you're sick, maybe it's a good idea to not walk as far as you can just to see when your energy runs out.. but maybe save some for the trip home, too? Mumbling curses under his breath he rounded a bend in the path he was following, and came face to face with a most curious display. His ringing footfalls ceased, their echoes slowly dying among the crystal panels, for there in front of him was none other but Nyx, the mare he wasn't quite sure was iron or silver. A tad too curious for her own good, and a tad too knowledgeable about a few of Mauja's opinions. And some opinions she might have invented for herself, if his hunch was correct. She'd treated him sort of like a monster whose reasoning you want to know, asking a murderer for his justification—oh, well. Whatever she thought was her problem, unless she started blabbering it to others.

Which was the exact reason why he should just shut up and never tell anyone anything, because of course, it was usually assumed he was evil. He still didn't know how Mirage had found out about Torasin, but naturally, she'd jumped to all the wrong conclusions.

But just coming over Nyx in a crystal corridor wasn't that weird. The weird thing was that she was nose-to-the-floor, rolling a round, smooth object before her. The shell's smooth arc dully reflected the colors of the walls, rolling along the strange floor with relative ease. So, was she to hatch herself a hellhound? One corner of his mouth quirked upwards, though he was not sure what made him so certain it was an egg. He'd not seen that many in his life, and not often companion eggs, but—it was obvious it was an egg, and he was pretty sure most things hatched from eggs (which was incredibly weird considering that usually some of those creatures didn't hatch from eggs), and the more he thought of it, it sounded as illogical as any fever-dream.

Helovia could be one fucked-up place sometimes.

"You should keep it warm," he said by way of greeting, tail flicking against his hocks as he leaned his shoulder against the rough wall.