Lucky indeed! Diaval would fluff and preen at such praise. (He's terribly modest, you see.) He can't read thoughts, though, so he settles for preening a bit of her hair in acceptance for the comment. It's an annoyance that he can't truly speak at the moment, but she is perceptive enough to understand anyway. Rare enough.

The doors seem to be labeled, but he's not learned to read. He'd have even less an idea than she does. He tilts his head anyway, to get a better look, grumbling thoughtfully. Before he--very distinctly, for a creature without proper shoulders--shrugs.

He appreciates the thought, but there's no way he can navigate them anywhere right now.