Having woke from his extended period of sleep and broken out his confines, he instantly reprimanded himself for having been idle for so long. all his acquaintances had fallen victim to the cave’s hibernation cycles, he had been determined not to wither away alongside them in such a manner only to ultimately fail. It was as if there was completely nothing left in Origin Cave for the gembound to hold onto but the faint memories inside his head and those pained him even further.

Just as quickly as he reprimanded himself, he would also commend himself for having held on for so long before falling asleep, instantly remembering all the cycles he spent barely holding on to his sanity as he wandered around this cursed cave in search of those he loved. To this day, Quintus did not concede to the thought that both his family and friends might be gone forever, just like Bevy.

Instead he found consolation in the possibility that they might be somewhere within the vast rooms of the cave sleeping inside a chrysalis allowing time to pass them by. Dumbfounded as to why he woke up here in the room of bones out of all other rooms, he strained himself to remember as to how exactly he got to this point. Barely able to comprehend anything that was going on inside his mind, his head hung low. Looking at the various different bones that littered about him would eventually aid him in remembering and upon remembering, a wave of sadness left him feeling bluish. This room is where he had come to in order to find evidence of death.

It had obviously been futile considering the amount of bones in the room but it had been exactly how desperate the gembound was in his search. Neither gem or bone, exhaling in defeat he gave his mane a through shake, a visible show of him trying to brush off whatever he was feeling inside. That and the fluid coating his mane from being within the confines of his obsidian chrysalis. Birthed once more and ready to compensate for time lost, Quintus began to plan his next set of moves in seclusion; with nothing but cold, biting, gracious air and the remains of the dead to accompany him.

The bones were a quick way to dispose of unnecessary thought processes. Whatever managed to survive the crawl to Canis was laid to fitful rest among the carrion and decay, never to live again - except by posthumous, wicked works (Hemlocke thought, every once in a while, that the bones may miraculously rise up into an army with a mysterious figure at its helm. It wasn't sure who that could be.) The Champion sat, as usual, shivering in the cold.

Of all things to imagine being beyond the confines of Hydra and Tunnel P, it was not a calmly shifting sort of climate. The rooms seemed to grow colder - perhaps in preparation for the winter trial Vargas had mentioned. Did it influence the rest of the nest, too? It seemed odd and inefficient. Perhaps it… aided in knowing the passage of time. The shifts in temperature could portend what exactly a cycle was, a grouping of cycles.

Hemlocke's eyes glazed over a moment as it sat in thought, yet again. Steadying. Getting back to reality. Away from the fleeting fantasies of independence and disorder. Its gaze shifted, minutely, towards a strange brown shape, immense and bulky but still seemingly wet with newness. The alien sniffed, ears swiveling forwards. Ordinarily, it wouldn't make an approach, but there was an opportunity — it fluttered closer, though at a large distance, and called, "who are you?" While this was Canis, it was adjacent to Tunnel P; "do you have a designation?"

@Quintus