Maggie grabs the straps on Fetch’s bag and lifts the leather from her back, raising high to clear the horse before moving to the side and lowering the object down to the ground to rest. The phantasmal hand pats the bags before floating off.

Fetch’s back shivers, the muscles shaking loose the strain of carrying the leather satchel throughout the day. Sighing softly, she noses into her pouch and pulls free a generous helping of grass she’d pilfered from the surface. Just because she grew up in the dungeons, it didn’t mean she was forced to endure the horrifying things that grew here. How other coursers managed to eat the moss and mushrooms, she’d never know.

The ombre horse settles down and starts to snack on her small meal. It would get her through till morning when she’d go up to the surface and forage for more.

Fetch licks up the last lingering strands of greenery, chewing on only a piece or two. Anything to keep herself from thinking about the quiet. The silence. The loneliness.

Blue-gray eyes shift, moving from place to place in her small corner of the dungeons. As she aged here, she carved out a small space that was just her own. Symbols of her dungeon dives, of her victories, litter the small area. Monster parts. Small artifacts. Pieces of statues. Each thing told a story of some adventure she went on. Of some achievement she made. Yet, nothing could catalog how alone she felt. A lone dungeon dweller without friends or a family.

Sadly, she lowers her head to the ground, resting her chin against the stone surface. Her eyes gloss over, focused on some point in the distance.

The moisture is starting to form at the edges of her eyes when Maggie returns, gently stroking her forelock. Fetch blinks back the tears and looks gratefully up at her beloved pet. The day she found Maggie had been a joyous day for the courser. While she had no horse friends, she had one friend, and maybe she wasn’t quite as alone as she thought.