Bragg props his back against the cave wall and rubs at his temples. "Okay—let's rest a minute before we go any deeper. I don't know where this hole leads, but I hope there's a way out the other side." He gives a humorless chuckle. "If not, we'll at least find somewhere to die comfortably."
Kyra drops to a flat stone and pulls a strip of cloth from her pack. She works methodically—cleaning, binding—hands sure despite the tremor in the cave air. "Comfortable," she repeats dryly, then slaps a salve onto a shallow gash on Mave's forearm. "Try not to make comfortable a habit."
Mave winces but manages a smirk. "No promises." He leans his head back, letting the dim light of Kyra's floating orb wash his face. Around them the cave smells of damp stone and old roots. Drips from the ceiling keep time.
