"I'll live," he says, the weight of all the layers of rock and air in this place pressing his voice down until it's flat, and reasons out why he'd answered that way a moment after he says it. No point in worrying Dorian. They don't need the distraction. He's got a hand laying on his leg, flat along the side like that's going to keep it all together. He lets go of it. Lots of rocks behind him; hard jagged lines against the gashes and scrapes over his back, then round, smoother pressure, separate shapes. Rubble, probably. Blocking off the way that he fell in. He forces himself to move over to the right, find out how much room he has that way, by moving like he's got space. Like he did when he tried to stand up all the way. It's a room, because it's got to be. There's space, because he isn't going to move without believing-

There's another thud, a little more rubble trickling down some place. Not a lot. Not very loud. His breaths echo in what space there is. He focuses on the sound.

Dorian needs something else. The Bull needs something else. He needs to know at least one of them is getting out of here. He needs to know that before he moves forward. The little beam of dim near-light isn't reflecting off of anything in front of him, so maybe there's nothing there to reflect off of. Might be his night vision just isn't enough to tell. Can't always count on a lot with only one eye on the job. He might be missing details.

If he's going to ask anything, he should do it before he tries again to move around. Feels like a good idea.

"You can get out, right?" He already asked that, sort of. Dorian already answered. Still feels important, so there must be something else to add.

Right. The essentials. What needs to get done. "Do it. Might get you out of here."