He is at home here in the dark where he floats, and he waits. Around him grows a carapace; no, grew. It grew, encapsulating his body in a protective layer. There is no telling how long he has been here in this void - this womb.
He cannot move. At first there is a panic response as his heart fills with dread, igniting a scintilla of magick where his stone is rooted. As the pulse wanes, his eyes slowly droop and shut. He tries to reach out with all that he is, pushing beyond the physical barrier to call to the bacteria in the air.
Nothing.
The hibernation begins, and he slips in to darkness.
Cycles have passed by the time the shell appears again, seemingly unearthing itself. The carving standing erect at Canis' entrance looms over it, face frozen in a contortion of rage which was eerily fitting, considering what beast was locked inside.
A gasp of air pulses through the tunnel; dust scatters, but as it lands upon the faceted black surface of the carapace the lustre does not diminish. Something trembles inside; a single eye opens, and life ignites.
Magick. An incongruity. It erupts from inside and forces the creature's body aloft for only a second or two. The dust is driven down and away as if they are unfurling their wings and taking flight, effectively burning the shape of extended wings upon the wall adjacent.
The smell of old campfire, coals gone cold. The after-image produces an inverted halo against the wall while the small red-and-black shape crumples to the dirt, gasping stale air.