His head turns toward the noise. Not that looking does him any good. He can hear. He can definitely smell. But any light he's starting to get is just enough to tell him where the wall is that it's coming through.

That wall's a few inches from his left shoulder. The ceiling - for lack of a better word - is only a little bit farther above his head. He moves his head wrong, and his horns scrape against the stone. Dorian's alive.

Focus on it. Dorian's alive. One of them might make it through this.

He realises he's going to have to think of an answer.

A moment passes.

"Dorian." His voice is hard, heavy, a little rough around the edges. He isn't whispering but he's not loud. The smell's enough - for him, at least - to give him a rough idea of how far away that smell might be, and he can figure how loud a voice he can get away with without thinking about it. Probably for the best. Clear thinking might be in some short supply. Whatever he can do with instinct is probably going to have to be what the Bull leans on.

Think. Dorian's not dead. So what does Dorian need to hear from him right now? Figure it out. Say that. Then move to the right. Find out how far away the wall is in that direction, for better or for worse.

Talk first.

"Sound close. You got a way out?"