Of Caverns and Casters ✓ [TLRQ #1]

Chapter 4 - Sean

We've been walking through the tunnels for three days. By now, we should be going into quarantine so we can test for the Death. Unsurprisingly, though, Miss Jumpy-and-Violent is rushing from plague-town Karsix like it's going to eat her if she stays in place for too long.

Walking. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. My mind jumps back to the Dead District.

I was walking. Just like that. Left, right, left, right. Concentrate on the steps, I thought—get through this corpse town. Think—it's just like a morgue, only smellier. It's fine. Left, right, left, right.

It's fine.

I shove my hands into my pockets. No reason to consider that, or what happened after.

Once again, my gaze wanders over to my traveling partner. Frustrated this keeps happening, I try to tear my eyes away.

I fail.

Two pink, slender lips set in determination—probably trying not to be the one to break the silence.

Two chocolate eyes squinting in the half-light—probably not used to illumination only by lantern.

One nose—no, that's not quite good enough... Two nostrils, flaring—

Ah. Probably because she just caught me staring again. I glance away once more.

She's an enigma. The past two months working with her have been as frustrating and futile as igniting wet cave-rock. She's helpful and kind one moment, and then—out of the blue, seemingly—she snips, snaps, retorts.

I'm curious how much equipment she even thought to bring. I mean, her bag jingles with every step, so I'd imagine she brought at least something useful, but part of me wonders how much of it's honestly important. It could be stuffed with anything from hematesters and crys-cases to nonsense like lipstick and rouge. I've yet to see her take out much other than her food and blanket, so I have no way of knowing for sure.

We stop for the night in a close-walled tunnel and set up camp. Out comes her blanket, a thin purple throw she stretches over the smooth rock floor. She's dumb not to have packed a normal woolen blanket like I did—hers takes up less space in her bag, but it's also less warm, which she'll regret when we make it topside.

From the side pocket of my backpack, I extract a pouch of coal, setting a single piece on the floor. It won't burn long, but at least it'll drive away the chilled air for a while. The closer we get to topside, the colder it's getting.

I pull my flicker from my coat pocket, the metal cylinder cool and smooth against my hand. Leaning down, I hold it close to the coal and depress the delicate brass lever. A snake's tongue of flame flicks out, smoldering into a small but intense blaze. The tunnel fills with the fire's crackling and the crinkle of paper as I unwrap my meal for the night.