Instead of answering me right away, Earth turns to the bat whisperer and gives him a sparkling prize. A necklace with a brilliant forest emerald set as the heart. This antlered crown angles toward the gesture, (his generosity) with slight curiosity and before it could be stopped there was a moment of stirring jealousy. Shiny shiny shiny. But those fleeting emotions are smothered when Volterra accepts the gift like a newborn suckling milk greedily from his mother's tit. I frown as he straightens, pfft...full of hot air. Somehow pointlessly adding inches on a dwarfed body in the presence of this mountain sized individual.

His moment in the spotlight fades. Those two (three if the bat was counted) turn to me and my vortex. Heat blossoms across each cheek and this flesh stiffens uncertainly -- yet there is strength enough to meet those gentle eyes that turn to meet mine. Both brows furrow when he chuckles, a glowering remark flies across my frontal lobe, "Was there something funny about my face?" Maybe there was. As subconsciously as blinking I do a swift mental check to make sure my jaw is still locked in the position I'd left it in a moment ago.

Earth assures me there's something he can do to help. (At a reasonable price of course.) Average items that will (maybe) make my whirly whirl stop. Rocks, sand. Both of those things are common, and certainly manageable -- I didn't take long to wonder the details just yet. Rocks and sand...seem easy enough to procure. Too simple. For half a second there was a hope, then...Earth mentions something about magic, Time magic he calls it. I frown, and feel somewhat fooled. Was this a joke? These eyes jump to the plain gilden chain procured from beneath that heavy plumage. Nope.

Well...I've come this far. Call it compliance, or acceptance. Slowly, this trembling muzzle extends to take the slender metal from his feather. The slight feel of it hanging loosely between my jaw is unsettlingly -- it was a vessel. Empty, harmless. I tried to imagine it filled and fail. With the care of a mother, this crown bends round to my left wing. Reaching beneath the splay of downy feather and flesh I hook it up and around one of my secondary pinions. "Ok, thanks...ummm" controlling scepticisms, "So..." a ramble of questions swell on the tip of my tongue; it settles for, "Which way is the Deep wood?"