TW: A very loose depiction of trauma and anxiety and the mention of blood.

The dungeon narrowed and the shadows deepened, darkness and stone pressing tighter and tighter and tighter until every hoof step ricocheted right next to their ears and every movement was accompanied by the cold kiss of damp stone.

"This place is tighter than a damp trap," Karlach grumbled, head ducked low as she squeezed through the passage behind Castalla. For once her size was a disadvantage.

"We've dealt with worse than cramped walls," Wolf called from his position as the rear, his spirits undampened despite the darkness and the claustrophobia. "Maybe the dungeon is just trying to give us a hug. A really tight hug. Friendly dungeon right?"

But Castalla wasn't listening. She was staring into the shadows, wide-eyed, pushing forwards on instinct more than anything else. The tight space, the damp and the faint stench of decay and month old blood filled her senses, until even the sound of her friends was drowned out by the roaring in her ears. She tried to fight through it, to steady her breathing and jack-rabbit of her own heart. But it was no use.

She saw his face, sneering as he slammed shut the iron bars, his torch fading into darkness as he left her there. The smell of her own blood, barely clotted, burned her nares. The silence howled louder than any storm, filling the tiny space and the shadows thickened until there was nothing to see by oblivion. No one was coming for her. No one could save her. She was stuck here, in the nothingness, entirely alone. She would die here, lost to the history books, where no one would even find her body.

Castalla was barely aware of Karlach's voice, the worry barely permeating the cage of her memories. It wasn't until a sharp sensation, like a row of tiny knives stabbing her withers that she blinked away the ghosts of her past and found herself staring at three worried faces. Beaky was perched on her shoulders, his teeth still clamped around the base of her neck. The pain had been a life line, a thread tugging her back to reality and for that she was grateful. But as she saw the concern on Karlach's face, the patience on Aislinn's and the confusion on Wolf's, she suddenly felt insecure. Vulnerable. And she hated it.

"You ok, love?" Karlach asked gently, and for once her loving kindness did nothing to ease the choking sensation in Castalla's throat. She turned her head away, facing back down the narrow path before them.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, a little more roughly than she intended. "Let's just keep going."

Beaky hopped from her back to Karlach's, pressing low against the red mare's back as the walls continued to close in around them.

"Maybe we should turn back," Aislinn called doubtfully. "I'm not sure we'll fit through there.