Relief surges through him, and he swallows down the slightly hysterical laugh that wants to bubble up from his chest. Good. Good, the Bull is alive. Of course he is, the more vain part of him wants to say. Dorian's Barriers are powerful things.

He casts around, looks first to the blocked doorway. With time and effort, he might be able to clear it, either physically or with his magic. Quietly, however, is another matter entirely.

"Yes, there's— a wall," he says, voice still pitched low. He realizes, a moment later, how completely counterintuitive that sounds, so he quietly adds, "There's a hole in it. I can slip through."

Shaking out his limbs, he takes stock of himself. His head still throbs in time with his heartbeat. Gingerly, his fingertips find a tender spot near his temple, something that promises to swell into an ugly goose egg later. Otherwise, he's— all right. Horribly sore, and bound to be coated in dark bruises later, but all right.

"Bull, are you hurt?"