The Bull's gaze darts to the stone when Dorian gestures to it and when he gets there he ducks his head, not wanting to risk bumping it. He holds himself very still as he moves underneath. He looks down at the stone and rubble beneath his face, too close and thick with shadow, and he tries to think of nothing at all, until he's through and can look up at Dorian and at the light in front of him. He moves his attention onto that, forcing it away from his own too-loud breaths and locking it back onto Dorian instead.

Dorian. What- right. Dorian's old mentor, the only person from Dorian's past who actually sounds like a friend sick with the Blight, the falling out that left Dorian spiralling without anyone safe to go to. Yeah. That's still right there in the Bull's head, even if the crap crowding inside his mind dragged him away from it for a second.

Yeah. Okay. Dorian. Think over it.

The Bull's first instinct here isn't the right one; he's too old, he reminds himself, to go explaining to people how they feel, to tell Dorian what to think about the whole thing, to tell him exhaustion and stress and grief can make all sorts of things start looking like good ideas, like Dorian doesn't already know. Maybe he doesn't. The Bull will have to figure it out; he doesn't want to misstep here. "What did he do?" the Bull finally asks, voice heavy. "Keep working on it on his own?"