Here it was. The moment of truth. The moment of courage. The chance for Loki to show what he was made of.

The crow tipped his head to one side, than the other, staring up at Carcass. Then he seemed to settle on "cowardice" as the thing he was made of, wings clamping firmly to his side. He hopped backward worriedly, afraid to try that whole flapping thing.

Then again... he wasn't a stupid bird, not even so soon after hatching. He leaned back and looked over the whole crystalline wall, with all the little faces and points, and decided to try a different way. Climbing! Well, climbing with wing-flaps, but it wouldn't be a whole dang flight where he might fall right on his face again.

He gave it his best shot: a sly trail of his beak tracing his intended path before he went for it, flapping as feet scrabbled at the crystal. He was trying to climb while using his wings for a boost, but he didn't really manage either.

Or, well, he started to. He got about halfway up before sliding, claws scraping stone; then he lost his grip and fell backward. He did at least manage to right himself before he hit the ground, and a panicked, instinctual flapping of his wings stopped him from hitting too hard. He stood back up and stared at the ground for a moment, blinking as he realized that the whole flapping-his-wings thing had kept him from getting too hurt. Then he craned his head around to peer up at Carcass. "Wings stop you FALLING?!" he cried, finally coming to this grand conclusion. He hesitaited. "You try?" he suggested.

If he couldn't get up, then apparently, Carcass should come down. Or more accurately: he wanted to know if wings could be used to glide, in general, or if this had been just a fluke.

Oh, that was frustrating. So he couldn't fly, but this big... brown... FLUFFBALL could just launch right down and glide, no problem, first try?! Loki puffed up with impotent fury. That fury had little outlet, so after a moment, he opened his black beak and just screamed.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH," though it was more like a croak. But once he'd done it he did feel a little better, so he closed that beak with a snap and ruffled his wings as if to gather whatever dignity he had left. "Safe," he muttered after a moment, in agreement. He eyed Carcass for a moment, feeling a little bad about his jealousy, and then the Rift caught his eye again. He tilted his head, peering around the vulture. "What is... that? Not uhhhh. Crystal. Not wings," he offered, because those were the only words that'd really come to him so far. Oh! Lightbulb moment! "Not BIRD," he declared proudly, fluffing himself up a little more, because he and carcass? They were BIRDS, and he KNEW that now. ...Somehow.

He jabbed direction rift with his beak, then eyed Carcass again, with sudden suspicion. His new friend had hatched only just before, hadn't he-? Why would HE know what it was?

Hmph. Rather than admit to himself that it was a stupid question that he'd asked of his pal, Loki set off toward the Rift in rapid little hops. He dared open his wings partway there, making a hop into a brief, low, frantically flapping glide, before hastily returning to the ground to hop the rest of the way. (It was terrifying.)

It was mischief that offered him an idea: to use his smoke to propel him up. Surely if he made it more like wind..? He didn't really know how to do this, but the idea stuck with him, and he eyed the fallen Carcass with satisfaction.

It wasn't that he wished Carcass harm. He liked his friend--he really did. But he wanted to win, here. Somehow. Even if it wasn't a competition at all. He crouched, spreading his wings again (with some trepidation), then tried to call on his smoke. Instead, a short gust of wind swept up behind him.

It wasn't a graceful flight. Loki was propelled upward, yes, but in a tumble of ungainly feathers, his legs at one point flailing above his head. He landed on his belly, then scrambled upright, eyes wide, and turned to look to Carcass.

All he managed was a startled "SQUAWK?"

"WE DID IT!" Loki echoed, wings spread--but he seemed to feel this was some great feat of teamwork, somehow.

Anyway--the Rift. That's what Carcass was peering at; it was why they had come up here, and so Loki dutifully folded his wings (it took him three tries to get the black feathers settled across his back) and plodded over with little scratches of claws-on-rock.

"Um." He leaned in, squinting.

It was a shimmering, round-ish sort of thing. Loki didn't know the term for "oval," but that would've been it, right? He tried to poke at it with his beak, but--he couldn't really interact with it. Then a foot. Same deal.

"Huh."

He puffed up, squinting and considering.

A mischief-maker like Loki could never admit full-on ignorance. Not now, five whole minutes after hatching, when he should be worldly and wise. And so, the confused croak that escaped his beak became a cough to hide his bewilderment, and he embarked on what would possibly become a long and dignified tradition of utter bullshitting.

"It's a magic hole," he decided.

The problem was, he was right. He was just trying to find something that made him sound like he wasn't a complete idiot. It looked magic. It was clearly a hole. Therefore: a magic hole. "You can put things into it. But not yourself," he declared.

To demonstrate, he picked up a pebble in his beak, and tried to lob it in. It clattered off. "But you have to know how the magic works." This attempt to hastily cover his obvious mistake was given with a completely straight face and serious tone. The only giveaway was how far out his chin and head feathers were standing from his skin: he was trying to look serious and authoritative, but the feather-ruffling had crossed the line from "puffed up and important" into "really worried someone will call him on his shit" sort of territory.

It was anxiety-fluff, really.

And it solved nothing of the "magic hole."