Getting through the wall was a futile endeavour. They had tried, but neither Whirlwind's deer magic nor Handy trying to find a loose block to knock in with his hammer worked. The wall was unyielding, they would have to find another way to reach their friends. The human gave the witch-torch to the deer to hold, who levitated it in a magical grip as Handy stayed severals steps behind him. The human was sullen, but tried not to let it show, his carelessness had resulted in endangering the others and he cursed himself for a fool. He followed the stag and the flickering blue flame as it led them through the ancient twisted corridors of the ruin. His failure stirred less pleasant thoughts as he chided himself, threatening to disturb and resurface some concerns he had been suppressing with renewed, unreasoning fervour ever since the changeling had found him. Neither spoke, even though Whirlwind had tried to strike up conversation so that the atmosphere would feel less oppressive; between the human's foulness and the stag's unease about what awaited him at the end of this particular journey, neither's heart was in the attempt.