‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Illvair had just wrapped up with one of his cleanest endeavors into perhaps the most overgrown caverns he had ever stepped foot in, when the streak of flawlessness was broken by an unnatural clinking sound. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The muscles in his neck stiffened at the disturbance, yanking his head upwards in a fluid motion, abrupt enough to hear his own forelock whizz through the air on the way up. It was not the sound of dripping water from the muddy cracks in the cavern’s ceilings, nor the sound of a bird who flew too close to the entrance. It was unmistakably metallic, and approaching rapidly at that. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“Make yourself known!” he could not keep the shaking out of his call as he took a step backwards, planting his hooves into the muddied rock.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎When there was no answer, he inhaled and braced himself for confrontation, as best as a Courser with no weapons or even a single piece of steel possibly could. He angled his side closer to the wall in an attempt to dim his lantern from view. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Maybe they won’t see me at all, he hoped, but he could not convince even himself of the pitiful idea. Illvair was not one for combativeness, never mind physical confrontation, and was prone to anticipating the worst. He did just that.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As images of his belongings being ransacked from his body began to manifest in the back of his mind, the sound turned the nearest corner, coming into full view of the Courser and, to his overwhelming relief, was much smaller than envisioned, however quote strange in stature as it clamored closer.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The clanging culprit was difficult to make out at first, and Illvair lowered his head and squinted, wishing in that moment his eyes failed him less than they currently did. It was a stone? No, a moving creature?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“A chanfron?!” he exclaimed, his confusion overpowering his better judgment, and the sound of his own voice ricocheted down the cavern’s corridor, alerting the small piece of stuttering armor into a screeching halt. Illvair took that moment to muster—a rather measly—amount of strength, abandoning his place by the wall and stepping into the middle of the corridor, face to face with the noisemaker. It was less than five feet from his hooves, now caked with mud and soggy moss tendrils.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“What are you?” his ears danced forwards and backwards in an attempt to construct the being that shivered before him. “I won’t hurt you, whatever you are.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Illvair wasn’t convinced the creature could understand him, and figured the sound of his voice was simply spooking it, so he softened his tone in an attempt to get closer.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“Are you alright?” he asked, doing his best to smother his voice with genuine concern. Mostly, he was just curious, but imitating empathy was not entirely lost on him. Besides, the armor piece could very well be valuable at a merchant on the surface.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The creature thankfully did not bolt as the Courser approached, but the shaking beneath the armor was steadily rising in pace. Illvair felt pity, but not enough to stop him from nudging the edge of the steel piece with his nose. He was not, however, prepared to balance his own strength in that moment, accidentally flipping the creature over entirely.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The armor twirled upwards and landed on its top with a sharp clink, spinning back and forth until slowing enough for the Courser to get his first look at the writhing being beneath the chanfron.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A crab. A scuttling, wriggling, mud-caked crustacean was beginning to untuck its fragile legs from their buckled position, and Illvair’s look of surprised humor was wiped from his brow. The crab unfurled its limbs to full length, and the horror on the Courser’s face was unmistakable.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“Gods…” he whispered, his legs backing away involuntarily. His lantern swung in gentle circles as his hindquarters shook with each step. The crab had to be ten feet in length, legs alone, and he quickly guessed there were at least ten of them, and all ten were slowly bending towards the cavern’s floor again, likely to turn itself upright again, but Illvair did not care to stay and find out. In one smooth rearing motion, he swung the other direction, his front hooves slamming into the wet stone and propelling him down the corridor at the speed of light (or, as close to the speed of light that a slightly rotund red dun could go).

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He did not look back. He did not even consider the thought of looking back. He did not even care if the crab wanted to follow him in the first place; what Illvair did know was his enormous fear of insects, and he would absolutely column ten-foot-tall crustaceans under that category, maybe even in the first spot. The image of the pink claws whirled through his panicked imagination as he turned every corner he could remember taking, catching his hooves at every slip, correcting every misstep without a second thought. He did not care where he ended up, and did not care if it was familiar. Illvair could only focus on the distance he put between himself and the armored nightmare he encountered only moments before.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But god, he could never tell a soul. The inevitable teasing that would ensue would be worse than walking right into the crab’s gangly embrace.