Well, terrible puns aside, never look a gift horse in the mouth. If God felt fit to have him stuck here with a near-sighted pony, Handy was all too ready to take the lucky break for what it was. He pulled himself over. Quietly, so very quietly, he hugged the dark shadows of the walls, watchful of the dancing light cast by the pony's torch on the other side of the room. His boots had cloth wrapped around them to help soften his footfalls and limit the amount of snow that would be caught on his soles. It certainly helped him now, as it mitigated the noise that would have been made, crunching centuries old brick, dust, and dirt underfoot.