The Sentinel offered the softest huff of air as an affirmation of those words. It wasn't quite a grunt, or a nod, or a hum of agreement. It was somewhere in that family, though, a sort of "urf" that a dog might make.

A throwback, perhaps, to his hound ancestry.

He tightened his hand around his halberd, and with his other he reached for Onyx-Three's arm, to better support them. Then, blue light erupted from his shoulder blades: a cascade of shimmering azure, leaving the air around them flecked with drifting spots like fireflies. The wings spread around them both, then beat twice with a soft ethereal thud: then his feet, tentatively, lifted from the floor.

"Come."

He attempted to lighten Onyx-Three's walking load, then. To half-lift the child, to lift himself, to skim them both mere inches above the ground through the tunnel, to the hunt, leaving streaks of blue behind them.