We left Ashring at what I generously decided to call sunrise. There is no sun in the dungeon. There is only oppressive ambient dread.
The squad was excited. I was not.
Relay skipped ahead like a kobold possessed. "First expedition day! We're going to make history!"
"We're going to make a very stupid obituary," I muttered.
Quicktongue waved from the trench gate without even looking up from her reports. Bitterstack just shouted "Good luck!" in the tone of someone absolutely certain I'd need it.
Embergleam's parting words had been, "Do not let any of them lick anything glowing."
I had already failed at life.
The path dissolved into semi-functional dirt five minutes out.
Relay narrated. Loudly.
"We are now officially twelve steps from Ashring!" he called. "Twelve! Thirteen! Fourteen!"
"Shut up," I whispered into my claws.
Flick vanished somewhere by the third turn.
Cinders had already started cooking while walking. "We will dine properly or not at all."
