Faceless perked up at the mention of a 'Transcendence door'. What was that? Transcendence sounded cool. It wanted to transcend. Would transcending make it better than other people? What did a door have to do with it? "Me tooo," it hissed, scooching its bristly-furred form closer to Vakornol. "What is a Transcendence door? I want to know too."

Its head jerked to the side slightly, void-hole eyes fixating on Newt. "Me toooo," it repeated. There was no hint of judgement in its voice. It sounded just as excited as it had with the mention of the Transcendence door. "I like glowing flowers toooooooo. What palaccccce? I want glowing flowers too."

It wasn't exactly sure why, or what it'd do with them. They just seemed rare, and pretty, and kind of cool. For that matter, what did flowers have to do with the narrator's story, anyway? It hadn't pegged the disembodied voice for the flower-loving type. "Waitttt. What does flowerssss have to do with this in-vest-i-gative mystery book? What does the voice want with flowers--you ever heard of a deep mysterious voice who likes mysteries and flowers?"

Transcendence door sounded well and mysterious enough, but flowers?

They did glow, it supposed.

"I KNOW THIS ONE!" Newt hissed, scrabbling closer enthusiastically, too-large eyes wide. "It's the DOOR!" (and for a moment, it might have seemed that it would not elaborate--Vakornol peering over her shoulder at it) "-in POLARIS. Where you transcend!"

Vakornol snorted and turned away, shaking her head, but seemed to be in general agreement, at least.

The other, spikier Valkhound looked over. "It's usually already open, if he's giving trials. Emuh, that is. You looking to Transcend?" Many eyes ranged over East, calculating. "...Maybe best to give that one a miss." A grin.

And far too many teeth.

@East

Oh, so that's how this one wanted things to be.

Far from the largest Gembound to grace the caves, East was all too aware of his particular link in the caves' unfortunate food chain: above colorful songbirds, thieving mice, and the smallest of miscellaneous vermin; awkward bedfellows with paranoid nose-twitching rabbits; and below most anything else fanged and clawed and possessing a taste for feathered meals. That knowledge a constant companion, it'd take more than being eyed at like a convenient toothpick to rattle his slender spine. Mocking judgment and a threatening display caused saliva to gain a bitter note in his hooked beak; this flavor he did not allow to grace the words that left it, those instead kept friendly if somewhat more honeyed than before.

"Nah, I wouldn't entertain that even in my dizziest daydreams. Never been much for biting and bruising—not really my style. Now you?" He nodded at the spiked brute with a low, appreciative whistle. "Bet you've already done that and then some. Had to have been like crushing pebbles for you with those muscles, am I right?"

No need to rise to disappointingly low bait. The cocksure were ever so more willing to crow when they believed themselves to be unrivalled, a characteristic readily available for a sleuth's exploitation.

@Faceless