Steven is barely cognizant of that journey, though he's aware of the fact that they're moving quickly and roughly. It's uncomfortable, to say the least, but he doesn't have the will or the energy to protest it. He doesn't feel any differently. If he could, he'd be running until he couldn't anymore, too.

The soporific effects of the roses are still lingering once they're there, which is weighing him down more than any physical injury. It's even harder to focus by the time Greg starts stops running, and Steven's eyes blink heavily as they try to process what he's seeing.

Amazingly, the thorns don't seem to have cut him up at all, which seems impossible considering how long and threatening they were, and how caged in Steven had been. What is increasingly visible is a selection of bruises from where vines had wrapped around him limbs only to be yanked away from, and from several falls he'd had while running. His wings (though Greg may have no frame of reference for how they should look) also seem to have shed a great deal of their petals, as if tugged off.

The worst is his palms, though, burnt as if by some dangerous chemical. The skin is puffy and swollen, and only getting worse as the wound has time to settle in.

"I... mmn..." Steven mumbles, trying to articulate himself but finding it difficult. "I can't... wake up..."