Enjolras grimaces a little at the watch's failure. It's not the best of outcomes, no. But it's what's happened. Since nothing immediately presents itself as an exit route, or even any indication towards one, there's nothing to do but carry on.

And keep an eye out for flaming deer-lizard-things. Sure. Why not.

At any rate. Bahorel is pulling faces for the strangely furry child, and letting himself be guided over the hill and onwards. Enjolras is content to follow. Certainly in preference to any other course of action currently available.

And it's really not too long until they're in the heart of a small village, with houses as strange as the cat-eared people who live in them. The translation spell, or whatever it is, holds here too; it's easy enough to talk to them, aside from the occasional bewildering proper name.