“Whoa, sorry, young mothers! Just crawling through, no harm to your litters … "
Can’t see a damn thing down here without Balthazar’s staff to light the way. It’s a good thing I can talk to these regular rats. Though I assume they’ll be just as willing to tell the big ones which way we went. Against the flow, they said. Up, up, up.
I’ve been relying too much on that Mantle of Fenth. It’s been a long while since I was as banged up as I am now. Not as much as Grimly, of course — it’s a good thing we sent him back to escort the goblin prisoners to the surface. He would not have made it through that meat grinder we just escaped from. It’s ridiculous that we did. It was worse than the Cult of Set’s dungeons under Arden Vul.
“Whoops! Too many eyes,” Wick says. Turning right, down this other tunnel.
They should have just killed us, instead of that whole torture-heal cycle. It seems pointless, unless they’ve got some pain-eating god stashed away here somewhere. They didn’t even ask us any questions. Maybe they had a mind-reader. I was certainly in no condition to block them out. They could have rearranged every thought in my head and I wouldn’t have known. Maybe they did.
“Ho, there, Whiskers! Sorry to disturb you. No, no, we don’t have any food right now. Later? Oh, yeah sure, just hit me up in the gutters above, and you can have some very nice cheese. Of course I’ll recognize you! How could I forget that smell?”
And where is Grimly, anyway? I can’t believe he wouldn’t even attempt to find us. Lost causes and all that …
How long have we been down here? And why didn’t I think to ask that last one to guide us out? I am slipping in more ways than one.