[ If- if Ian ever slips up and adopts a pet name for Mace, it won't be goddamn Goose or any other farm animal. The only pet names he deigns to use are the kind you can say in bed at the height of something. Nobody's tripping into an orgasm when they hear the word Goose.

His eyes track the firelight, the glistening rock, dark patches that have worn a little more smooth than their surroundings over the course of a thousand years or more. It passes over their heads, it's sloping down, and he can see a little bit of optimism in Mace's expression.

His chin tips into a little nod. ]

Yeah - but for what it's worth, it's been like a decade since I studied geology. If I'm remembering right, the general rule is if the water's clear, you follow it downstream. It wears and erodes rock until it makes it out. If it's murky, you go upstream instead to find the inlet.

[ His lips press tight into a little concession, one shoulder shrugging up and high - taking Mace's hand with it momentarily. ]

Doesn't guarantee the outlet'll be big enough, and I don't think they took into account supernaturally haunted possessed asshole demon caves, so.

[ Could go either way. Not to be a downer, just... probably best to lay it all out there on the table honestly.

He's trying not to worry about that part - the getting out part. Not yet. He can make a fucking hammer, he can make a chisel, he can make things that explode if they need to widen something. They'll cross that bridge when they come to it.

It's the pumpkin-smashed head and the jawless assailant that has his anxiety's focus right now. ]