The Bull steels himself, too, and starts moving again. He focuses past the distress signals crowding into his thoughts. Sure it's too small but he still fits. And sure, if another earthquake hits while they're in here they're dead. But if they leave this little space it could get a whole lot worse so there's no point in worrying about any of it, no matter how close, how immediate the danger feels. He tries to focus on Dorian's voice instead.

It isn't as hard as it could be. Dorian's got a nice voice, even manages to make that my-shit-doesn't-stink accent sound good, and it's always easier to pay attention to people when what they're saying is important. Easier when it gives him something to think about, gives him some pieces to put together with other fragments of what Dorian's told him.

"That what the two of you fell out over?" he asks, instead of thinking about twisting to squeeze through a bend in the path, about the way doing it scrapes hard enough at the scabs over his shoulders to get a couple of them bleeding again. It's big enough for him. It's big enough, and that's fine. What needs paying attention to is Dorian, and fitting together a picture of his past. "Your research hit one too many walls? Or-" and there's an indirect, almost delicate way to ask this, even if he can't get that tight-wound thread out of his voice for long enough to get his tone to match. "-Were you working on a time limit? Stopped looking for that cure once it hit?"