Ears pricked forward, Howell listened to the whispers.

They were soft, indistinct, yet persistent. As he picked his way forward in the vaulted cavern, they stayed with him, echoed from every smooth, damp stone surface. The courser wanted to heard words—to make meaning out of long vowels and sliding consonants—but each set of letters he tried to ascribe to sound were a stretch. Wishful thinking. It could have been sooooon, sooo, sooo, but he would be a poorly creature of science to leap to such conclusions.

Hush, hush. Swish.

All puzzle pieces that barely fit.

“Hello?” he tried, lifting his chin, and hearing his own voice thrown back.

Hello? Hello?

There was no reply. The whispers continued without his input.

Soooo, soooo, swish.

With the rope handle of his lantern fixed between his teeth, Howell carried on. The cavern on either side of the path he trod gave away, dipped down about two feet into darkness, and—there.

There they were.

Long, black bodies twisted in the ditch, legless bodies brushing against one another. Swish, swish, sooo. The sound of carapace sliding against carapace. It was loud enough to echo because the cavern itself was so deathly quiet, and these things—worms or myriapods—had taken advantage of the stillness, whether to breed or hibernate. This was their home, and Howell was only passing through.

He held this new knowledge of the Overgrown Caverns’ mysterious ecosystem in his mind, reverent, honoured to hav learned it.