A crushing sense of failure was threatening him.

He was alive, yes, but as he took stock of his body--too weak as yet, too gasping for breath, to even push the dying Ripclaw off him--he knew that it was 'barely.'

One forelimb was broken, his body was bitten, torn. He stood little chance of even escaping Lacerta alive.

But he wasn't afraid; it was that failure that haunted him already. A bone-deep shame. It didn't matter that he'd won these fights. It mattered that he'd be going back empty-handed, broken and battered, with absolutely nothing to show for it. If he were lucky, maybe he could find some abandoned gemstone somewhere and use that. But there was no knowing what would come of it. No knowing if it'd be a true contribution to Tema's goals, or some weak little creature requiring protection rather than offering it.

At length he grunted, his strength returning, and managed to roll the Ripclaw away. He noted, with only the faintest interest, the rippling colors flashing madly along its feathers as the last neuron messages--from no one, to no one--spasmed sporadically in bioluminescent light.

Huh.

Sergei looked around. He had to rest, but... where? He stank of blood. His limb was broken. He could... chrysalize, he knew, but... that shame lingered. He rallied, taking a breath and pushing up with a stagger.

He plodded off, belly at least full, though blood loss and agony were taking their tolls. He found water: a thin creek trickling through the deepest jungle. With a grunt he lowered himself in, moaning his pain in quiet bear-sounds as he washed his wounds. Blood had matted his fur, thickening and drying there, and he did his best to rid himself of it, even as he drank deeply to replenish fluids that he'd lost. Every movement was agony, the slashes the Ripclaw had inflicted moving with deeply cut, oozing flesh.

When he'd cleaned the stench of blood away as best he could, he made his way back up the slope, stumbling and huffing. At length he found a sort of a hollow beneath a tree, and he spent some time first clearing it of leaves, then pulling the leaves back atop him as a sort of camouflage blanket.

Despite himself his consciousness slipped away; his body needed rest, and it needed it now.

Sergei slept soundly. He wasn't sure how long, but when he woke, the raucous noises of the rainforest that had filtered back to 'deafening' had gone silent. In their place was the incessant, also deafening buzz of insects, like some sort of giant crickets had infested the place. Thick afternoon light had dimmed to darkness, and a heavy, drifting fog was half-lit blue by simulated moonlight.

He lay for a time, quiet, listening and smelling and simply resting. He felt slightly better, but overall terrible: weak, pained, like he could sleep for weeks merely to recover from this one day.

If I am going to escape this place. It should be now. In the dark. Fog. With a wincing grunt he pushed upright, knowing his time was limited. He had to be off Lacerta by dawn. Assuming things that went 'bump' in the night did not decide to bump right into him.

Though not normally a stealthy sort, he managed it now driven purely by fear: silent steps, a crouching slink that saw him weaving quietly through the undergrowth. Perpetually wide eyes pried at the darkness and gained nothing from it.

But around him, the night remained quiet. Nothing else ambushed him, or launched itself at him, and soon enough he'd found his way up to the crest of the hill he'd rushed over earlier that day.

Despite the odor of relatively fresh, open wounds, nothing leapt from the dark and fog to accost Sergei. A little while more and he'd reach the exit, the tunnel to Fornax proper.

However, that was still a bit of a journey, yet. So long as he kept moving quietly, at least he likely wouldn't be the ambushee, but an ambusher, if something did appear.

With the instincts of a wild animal, he angled right back the way he'd come earlier that day. It wasn't clear if it was subconscious landmarks that guided him, or maybe the light, or the wind. But he moved along a relatively confident line, quietly picking his way through the jungle.

With his good arm, he leaned a little on his spear as he went. His bad was hanging, eliciting a wince with every step. He tried to quiet his heaving breaths, and to watch his steps so he didn't crack any branches underfoot (or step on something very sharp in the dark).

It had been hours since he'd last seen anything living, and he was beginning to dare to hope he'd get out of this place alive.

If a failure.

He found his eyes drifting to the ground as he walked. There was always the chance he could simply find a gemstone; after all, creatures died all the time and Lacerta seemed to represent the rule rather than the exception. But that was an unlikely prospect in the thickness of the jungle.

At length, a thought occurred to him, welling up only slowly in his very gradual barbearian mind: fungus grew near death.

And he could find fungus.

Tentative, he paused, huffing softly as he tried to sense for anything close by.

There was some, but... it was a risk. It was so unlikely to hold a stone, and beyond that, it was a distraction from his escape. Open wounds hurt with every step he took, yet... the idea of returning empty-handed to Tema, or simply hiding away forever after, hurt even more.

Barely, but... he had his pride, as weakened as it was.

With another soft huff he ended his hesitation and turned, setting off downhill and to his right, creeping toward the fungal patch.

It wasn't too far off: a decay-scented indent in the ground, the fungus far thicker here than elsewhere nearby. He was wary for any signs of Hive, but it wasn't Mother's fungus here; just decay and detritus, rank-smelling and perfectly natural.

A paranoid gaze rose, piercing the dark fog and underbrush, but he was still alone. He knelt, grunting as he set his spear down by his side, using his 'good' arm (if one could call it that, with its wounds) to scrape at the dirt, here. Would he find bones? A gemstone? Would he find anything at all-?

There were bones, below. Cracked, scratched, difficult to make out; something had killed whatever this was, and had eaten it, too.

It was not that large. A juvenile, maybe; or some small adult creature. There were no identifying characteristics, and half the skeleton was missing. A hunk of striped-looking Hypersthene lay embedded in part of it, though it was impossible to know without magic whether it held residual life.

Claws scraped bone, tossing debris aside. Then they lifted, his mutated thumb-claw pinching a gemstone-... There, he thought, excitement shooting through him.

Whether it was alive, or not, he didn't know; he could test it. He hadn't used this magic almost at all, but he knew how to ping it for an echo.

A moment's focus, and he had it: a flicker like glittering light through his mind. Alive, then.

Sergei grunted and pushed up, looking around as he closed the stone into his hand, palming it against the spear's haft.

He'd need to make his way back to Tunnel K with this, and give it all he had. It horrified him that he had no idea if this had belonged to one of Lacerta's vast and glorious monsters... or a rat.

Maybe he could find more, but... that was asking a lot.

Can I use this magic? he wondered. Find more stones--backups to the first..?

He began to plod back for the exit. He kept his magic eye open along the way, though, searching the forest floor as he went, looking for any other signs of once-life.

He kept quiet, as he did so. Sergei absolutely did not want another fight--and he didn't linger, either, lest the odor of his wounds draw unwanted attention.

It was lucky he hadn't drawn scavengers yet. Though he didn't know of Skrunglers, he'd have been their perfect prey.

This spark of magic's location held no bones. Only a hunk of Kyanite, striated in a strangely organic fashion. It was striated, oddly shaped, like a little fan made of stone.