“Up to no good again, Luvain?” Crispin’s voice was a warm crackle amongst the smoky caverns of the earthen furnace. It brought Luvain comfort more than he’d ever admit. Traveling alone wasn’t something that he did well, but it was all that he really had.

“Up to the same amount as usual.” Luvain smiled broadly, trying to look nonchalant for a moment. It was clear by the drop in the other courser’s eyebrows that he didn’t really believe him. Well. He couldn’t really blame him. Luvain had a knack for getting into more trouble than it was worth.

Their first meeting on the edge of a magma pool hadn’t been the best one.

He’d walked away with a lesson: don’t trust magical bridges.

“A fair bit, then.” Whatever bite that was there was more tested patience than actual admonishment.

“You’d be bored if I didn’t give you some grey hairs, old-“

He didn’t get to finish that sentence as a haunting, deep bark echoed down the tunnel. Luvain froze. Ears perked, head tilted. He was listening. If there was only one, they’d probably be safe.

Another hound joined, and then a second. Soon he could hear their snarling getting closer.

“How do you feel about stretching your legs, instead?”

Crispin didn’t look any more impressed.

The hounds would catch before they reached the end of the hall, but at least they'd be in a better position to fight.