Orang tapped his hoof, impatience radiating off him.

“Tisk tisk. How slow can one possibly move?”

In front of him, a massive boulder snail inched along, blocking the only path forward. Orang had come too far to just turn back now. Meanwhile, Bread barked and danced around the sluggish creature. Clearly happy to just be there.

“They’d move faster if you lit a fire under their ass,” came a dry voice from the entrance.

A brown courser strolled in casually, a glowing wisp orbiting her head. Without waiting for a response, she continued, “I mean that literally. They speed up pretty quick when they feel heat.”

Before Orang could question her, she lit a small object and tossed it behind the snail. In an instant, the snail bolted away, leaving Orang dumbfounded.

“That’s it? I could’ve just—” Orang cleared his throat and quickly shifted to a more charming tone, flashing a smile. “How rude of me. I am Orang, son of the leader of The Orchards Three.”

“Who?” the courser replied, clearly uninterested, her gaze drifting away.

"Orang… Of The Orchards Three," he repeated, a little louder, as if that might jog her memory. "You must know my family. We control most of the fruit on the west end."

"Doesn’t ring a single bell," she muttered, pushing ahead without a glance.

Orang blinked, stunned. For a moment, he just stood there, then quickly trotted after her.

“Wait, really? You sure?”

She shot him a sidelong look. “I’m very sure,” she said, her voice as dry as sandpaper.

Determined to make some connection, Orang kept pace with her, awkward silence stretching between them. After a beat, he cleared his throat. "And your name, madam?"

Hazel huffed, rolling her eyes. "Hazel. And drop the ‘madam. I’m not your grandmother."

Orang followed, awkward but intrigued. Was this how most dungeoneers acted? Should he act like that? He glanced at Hazel's many bags, then at his own sparse supplies. Maybe he should have packed more. His eyes drifted lower. Wait—her leg was bandaged?

“Uh, should you even be here with a bum leg? That’s gotta hurt, right?” he asked, genuine worry creeping into his voice.

Hazel shrugged, barely glancing at him. “I’ll live. Base doctor patched me up. It’s just a sore muscle, not exactly life-threatening.”

"Did you get bit? Or, oh, maybe crushed under some rocks! Wait, a DRAGON?!” Orang's excitement bubbled up, eyes wide as he imagined her facing down some fierce beast.

Hazel gave him a look like he'd just sprouted a second head. “What on earth are you talking about? No. No to all of that. I just got in a scuff, that’s all.”

But Orang, now animated by the prospect of an adventure-worthy tale, wasn’t about to let it drop. “A scuff? What kind of scuff? Bandits? Maybe a rogue monster? You’ve got to tell me!”

Hazel groaned, rolling her eyes as if summoning the energy to humor him. “Alright, alright. If it’ll shut you up…”

Orang's ears perked up, eager for the story.