Vargas threaded his way up the sandy trail, little puffs rising behind each of his steps. He was careful, still--and had been this whole way--not to leave Orthoclase-Alpha behind. If it spoke, he'd speak back; beyond that he simply, unerringly, headed for a secluded spot in Leo.

Light beat down on his hide, and he mused that it was nothing compared to the burning heat of a real sun--one that, after millennia, he had felt but once as it seared his skin. But still, it was warm. And heat was what he needed. He led the way around a curving path, one that rose behind the bay toward a series of pools and waterfalls where the warm waters of the bay met the base of Leo's volcano.

It wasn't idealism, foolish hopefulness, that made him wonder if molting--a stuck carapace--might be the base of all Orthoclase-Alpha's miserable depression. It was pragmatism. The thought had occurred to him long ago, and he'd never really pursued it; he intended to do so now, if only to rule it out before moving on to such things as "mind reader therapy" and "whatever else I can think of in last-minute desperation."

Dhracia failed. Now that was a thought. If nothing else, he could take a sort of grim solace in that thought; a dark hilarity, despite the ill omen such a thing provided.

"Here," he told his spawn at last, pushing past a stand of thickly overgrown jungle plants to plunge down a steeper slope. Water stood in honeycombed, hissing falls, rivulets trickling down; larger pools stood here and there, some warm, some outright hot. They weren't the best hot springs in the caves, but they would do for his purposes, and Vargas tested the waters of one with one hand before plunging in like a dog, head tilting up as his upper body briefly submerged. He paddled awkwardly to the other side, making room, then turned and settled where the water lay shallow.

An exhale escaped him, six toxic eyes sliding to languid near-closed. He turned, seeking out Alpha with his gaze, the thought now, let us see if you can swim one of pure metaphor.

"Do not worry--don't concern yourself with--accomplishing something. I simply want you to try and feel the water," he urged, his tone one of calm confidence, forced to something quieter than his usual booming voice. "To listen to the steam and feel the heat on your muscles. Then tell me how it feels." 'This is not a test,' he nearly added, in assurance; but he'd said so many times that everything was a test. How could Alpha believe that now-? So he left it unsaid, allowing himself to relax in the water, settling up to his jaws.