Amos chuckles. "Been doing that since they been here. Only two or three like to help me, even if I can hear all of 'em."

He pauses, a hesitation between steps, as he deciphers the information the bird sends to him of the tunnel ahead. It's no tidy image or word, it's a dense chunk of sensory input, a momentary glimpse into the creature's brain. Amos, by now an expert of translating the foreign viewpoint and input into useful information, sorts it out and continues walking.

"Tunnel splits ahead into three, some tracks of something to the right-most, tastes like cat," he reports to Sam. "An' a mimic where the tunnel splits. Air's good, though, nice current an' flow."

He warns the bird not to venture too far ahead. He can't help if he can't get there in time. The bird finds a stalagtite perch and waits for them.