It's incredible how effectively one sound can produce a visceral, heart-stopping, gut-wrenching, knee-jerking reaction. A moment is all it takes to shatter the serenity of a pleasant stroll through a deceptively peaceful place; primal dread surges up from the icy depths of the basest survival instinct, nearly at pace with the speed of sound. 

Crunch.

The breaking of a fragile thing—of failure under stress. To crush something with intention is indulgently satisfactory, yet the accidental or unexpectedness of the very same results in a flood of desperate, expectant terror. 

Especially when it comes from underfoot. 

A quickly retracted hoof is not enough to take back the ruination of a camouflaged shell, home to writhing swarm of things that skitter and worse- fly.

Adaeze's squeal ripples along the walls of the cavern in her wake as she flees the thunderous buzz that erupts from one misstep, kicking and plunging into deeper and darker places. There's something much less frightening about hazards that don't number among the millions.