Lost

Homage

The ends of Annie's thin eyebrow have never twitched so much in her life.

Don't go down the edge of the cave without maneuver gear, she said.

We'll need more than just a couple measly flashlights and hardhats, she said.

We need rope or leave behind some sort of trail to help find their way back, she said.

The Survey Corp's blond prodigy is ferociously intelligent and must be so horrifically bored out of his mind, he leaps up from bed one morning, suddenly driven to take on a sudden adventure to explore every crevice of the cave. They've both gone on explorations during training, have been taught what needs to be gathered and what will drag them down; knowing so leaves Annie all the more amazed on how Armin manages to screw up something which once was a beaten-in practice.

He neglects to help lay a trail of blue stone-crumbs in their wake, hypnotized by an aquamarine stone so large, the mineral sits like a chandelier lighting up the rocky, arched ceiling. Armin hops so quick atop a slanted boulder, a leather boot slips on rolling gravel and Annie swears. She drops their rock-markers and yanks him back so hard by his coat, he falls on his back next to her. If not for her, curiosity would have bought Armin a new trip in a dark pit's stalagmite mouth.

With Annie pushing his back in a command to head back, what feels like hours pass. The blue path to the barracks is much dimmer than she remembers and the heavily perceptive woman's jaw hardens. She hears vermin scuttling about this dank cave, wonders if their senses are so sharp, they detect her hate-riddled aura and reacted to it by skittering so fast past the blue pebbles she left behind, they've toppled into unseen cracks, erasing the path to the barracks. It certainly feels that way as what the two suspect to be half a day passes before the lake's shimmering surface greets them again.

It's one disaster after another with every journey in and out of the edges of the cavern. There're more than enough cracked floor pockets to topple into beyond the lake—Armin discovering so by falling forward and flat on his face—and cracked edges too flimsy to step on—she had to learn such a fact and cat-like reflexes shot her up to a nearby boulder to not fall into a twenty-foot drop. All of it is annoying and the couple are always covered in earthly film and dust; it's no secret to Annie now why caves are such an unattractive hellhole.

Annie halts the flow of water by twisting the shower's rusty knob. Two weeks' worth of diving after Armin or catching themselves from falling from flimsy cliffs has left her exhausted and tested to her last nerve.

Finally scrubbed of dirt and sweat, Annie has the cleanliness to walk toward the wooden bathtub big enough for five and relax. Armin is already there when she steps a sore foot in warm water, floating about the tub with half a head sunk in. Bubbles boil up from his thoughtful face. The studious soldier holds his hands up out of the water then down again, treks to and fro the sides and top of the tub in search for an answer with the fervor of a crocodile searching for prey.

Her eyebrow twitches again.

"What are you doing?" Annie broaches irritably.

Armin's lean torso casually comes up from the water, his youthful smile growing. "These ice-burst stones are interesting and I've never really had a chance to closely examine or weigh them against other rocks. Everything I've read about them say these were formed by volcanic calderas, but there isn't one for miles or history of there ever being a volcano here. At least, as far as I know. I wonder if it's because there's more to be found below the surface? That maybe, if we went down deep enough, we might find magma underneath?" His wet head slants, examining the chunk of blue, serrated rock in his palm. "What's your story, little fella?"