As the chick continued out of sight, Eythan shuffled to his feet and followed him in his expedition. At first, he was going at a gentle pace easy on his creaking hips. Unwittingly, he had gotten closer than intended and found a spray of dust meeting his face. Blinking, he watched the chick pursue a tiny smudge on the floor. Being the helpful uncle he was, he called out to his magicka and prayed that it wouldn't be a critical failure. Fortune smiled upon him and the little newt was halted by the slightest gust, just waiting to be caught.

The hope that his magicka hadn't been too strong was quashed as the fluffy child and newt tumbled backwards. Despite his own disappointment, he was internally rooting for his nephew (a fate he had resigned himself to) to eat the shit out of that newt. Childhood clumsiness and newness at magic won the battle, and the slimy munchkin was lost. Uncle-instincts imagining disappointment, Eythan chirruped softly and approached the little chick. "You did good!" Raising a paw, he mussed the fluff atop Morigarra's head. "You'll get the hang of it soon enough," he murmured softly. At least the little guy didn't break his pelvis.

As the 'do was messed up, Eythan chirped rapidly, imitating laughter. Then came an indignant little beak and he danced away from them. Then came absolute panic as the chick vanised off into the void. "Hey!" Soreness still on the hips, he ran the best he could, following the fading pitter-patter of cassowary feet. His breath hitched a little as he picked up the pace and definitely found a muscle pulled. The pace would have to go at a limp, then, favoring the pulled leg.