Truthfully he doesn't know how long it took either. Truthfully he does not feel compelled to take meals regularly enough that there is any structure to be gleaned from it. He dips a horn acknowledgingly to that regard.

...Will he be...?

Here, in Dirtmouth, Lemm registers, and his hand tightens around the pen. His place is below. There is nothing up here for him. Except the Knight, now. He hovers as if to write, and falters twice.

Coward, snaps the voice that brought him here in the first place. His pen meets the paper this time.

A little while. I have some errands       bugs to see.       Not sure.