Well! He was doing it!

        Ansgrim admired himself in one of the smaller, shallower pools of water dotting this level of the dungeon. His previously boring sorrel coat had transformed - not once, but twice! So far he'd found two bands, and upon sporting them on his right foreleg, he felt... different. Now look at him! A beautiful soft grey swept over most of his form, broken by hundreds if not thousands of fleabit spots. A cluster of them huddled around his eye so he could peer at the coat beneath it and too his surprise he saw striping rather than his solid chestnut hue! He hadn't even left the dungeons yet and he was already that which he had set off to be - transformed by the very dungeon itself. A part of him wished to laugh at any who doubted that he, the small Ansgrim, could accomplish his goal here in the depths, but he wasn't the type to be a sore winner. He did, however, feel a desire to return to the surface to showcase his new appearance.

        If only he remembered the way out...

---

        The frogs of his hooves were growing weary by time he paused to take a break in a room of pottery. It lay discarded in the corner, long forgotten by some wayward wanderer, leaving the remainder of the earthen chamber vacant and pleasant for taking a break. Ansgrim knew he'd not been here before, as he would remember such an obviously out of place discarded pile of junk. Laboured breaths raked his sides as his head lolled back and he loosed a groan. He didn't want to admit he was lost. Obviously, everything was connected. He just had to find the right passage to take him back to the surface. "Though, if I stay here any longer, I may not get moving again." He paused his next stride mid-air as his stomach gurgled so loudly he was embarrassed even in solitude. "Can't hurt to eat something first... Keep up energy and all that."

        Digging into his packs, he misses the first shift in the pots, but by time he removes his head from the satchels he cannot deny their shifting. Or the sound of murmuring. His brow furrowed as he absently chewed at a piece of fruit jerky. Was... was it coming from the pots?

        As the thought crossed his mind they sprang to life. Each one tumbled, rolled, bounced, and hopped from the pile. Their lids flapped and clapped as a cacophany of complaints spewed into an unintelligble mess. What he could hear was the frequent use of "wizard". Like a swarm they crowded at his hooves, barking about their hunger, hopping up so that they almost could pass over his back, and overall failing to understand any amount of personal space. Ansgrim couldn't get a word in edgewise, faltering and tripping over the smaller of the claw vessels in an attempt to escape them. But they pursued, angry and unapologetically loud.

        All he wanted to do was go home...

        In desperation to get them to leave him alone, Ans threw the remainder of his ration, then pulled the remaining dried fruits and nuts and tossed them to the pots not unlike one would breadcrumbs to birds. Their frustration blossomed into appreciation as they scuttered and chased all the different foodstuffs now littering the space. In their distraction, their attentions turned to commenting upon the taste of the food rather than Ansgrim for a moment, the newly greyed stallion bolted - if he didn't he thought maybe he'd be stuck there listening to them for eternity.