They told him his injuries weren't healed enough to return to the dungeon, but how could he lie there and wait knowing they were somewhere in the depths of the dungeon? It mattered not that he couldn't recall any names, or faces, or even their voices. Only that something had happened, and the most precious parts of him were ripped away.

He did not even think to stop for supplies when he slipped away in the early morning hours. He only knew he had to return, had to find them. They were lost, somewhere in the deep, and he needed to find them.

His hooves, cloven for grip, yet scrambled and staggered on the sloping path into the dungeon. His left hindleg throbbed, barely supporting his weight as he descended down. As he delved deeper, light began to fade, and the surface seemed so distant. Yet, had he not made countless dives before this? The darkness and gloom were only momentary, it would pass, and he could breathe past the discomfort of practical blindness.

His hooves, once so steady and stable, scrambled gracelessly on the rocky floor. Like a drunkard, doomed, he stumbled into the darkness of the dungeon, and let it's shadows swallow him up whole.