Ishmael wondered if imp voices had evolved to be the most annoying pitch possible or if that was pure luck.

   "Look at this skinny courser, half of its colour's slipped right off! Its belly's gone all white."

   "I reckon its a white horse who's rolled in something to try sneak around the Dungeon."

   "Don't it know everything's red in the Furnace?"

   "Its brains must be slipping out too!"

   Ishmael answered with his teacher brain, "That's a hurtful thing to say. What do you hope will happen when you talk to me like that?"

   For a second, there was blessed silence. Then, the two imps burst into cackles so loud they shook their tiny frames like trumpets.

   "Aw, did we hurt the wittle horsey's feelings?"

   "It'll hurt a lot more than feelings if it doesn't turn back. The Earthen Furnace's no place for babies."

   Ishmael was saved the trouble of replying by a second chorus of ear-piercing imp voices floating down the long tunnel between Dungeon levels. Someone was coming up from below, crowned by their own buzzing gaggle of imps, but the orange glow behind them made it hard to pick out any details. Ishmael hoped it was someone he knew - maybe even someone from House Vesperal.

   "Look, that courser's got a lizard crawling up its leg," chirped one of Ishmael's imps, who apparently had better night vision.

   "You ever see a flat lizard? It's just got soot on it, you numpty. That's the horse with a hawk pet, that is."

   The first imp squealed and hollered out as the other courser drew near, "Birdbrain, birdbrain!"

   Ishmael noticed the second imp let its companion edge closer alone.

   "Sorry," he called out to the approaching courser, "I see you've also - "

   "Where's your precious birdie now?" The braver of Ishmael's imps darted over to join the imps circling the new courser's head, "Did the chicken get fried?"

   The courser snapped at it in a clack of teeth. "I'll fry you, you worthless winged rats!"

   The imps cackled at this, too, and hurled insults all the louder.

   "Any tips for down below?" Ishmael tried to shout over the noise of them, "I've never been this deep."

   "And you'll never get any higher again!" an imp screeched over the other courser's reply.

   Ishmael only made out the words 'hawk', 'ranger', and 'lava'. "What was that about lava?"

   The courser opened their mouth again but a pair of imps danced right between their faces screeching, "The Furnace roars, it's bright and brash, it burns the horsies into ash!"

   The other courser stomped the dirt, looking frustrated enough to try and headbutt the imps out of the air, but before they could give it a go, a shadow whisked through the dancing pair. One moment, they were doing a jig through the air between Ishmael and the other courser; the next, one imp hovered in shock while a torn pair of wings fluttered to the ground. The imp that had hung back with Ishmael dropped into his mane, quivering.

   "Hawkey!" the other courser exclaimed as a large brown bird flapped down onto their back to gobble down its prey. "See?" They turned to Ishmael now. "My biggest tip is to buy a - "

   The rest of their wisdom was drowned out by the surviving imps chattering at the hawk like angry squirrels. They didn't dare resume their places around the other courser now, however, first sticking to the edge of an invisible circle centred on the hawk, then falling back to cluster around Ishmael instead. Ishmael sighed and tossed his head to bid the other courser farewell as he trotted on down the tunnel. It seemed only fair, since the other courser must have been below for some time and Ishmael was still relatively fresh from the surface.

   Logic didn't make the imp prattle any less headache-inducing.

   "Lucky for us this one doesn't have any pets," hissed a voice from his mane, "This one is all alone."

   The others started up a chorus, "No friends, no friends, na na na na na-na."

   "Nobody even cared enough to come and watch it die in the Dungeon, how sad."

   Ishmael wanted to scrape his neck against the rocky side of the tunnel to dislodge the imp but it would only fly away, and then they would know they were getting to him.

   "It's looooonely."

   Ishmael snorted and thought his students once more, "I know you are but what am I?"

   The imp took off in a leathery flap of wings, a miniature pink tongue jutting out from cherubic lips. Its companions jeered at him. Lowering himself to their level had done about as much good as any of the other strategies, but at least it didn't take any brainpower.

   Lava, the other courser had said. Ishmael's only experience in the Earthen Furnace to date was getting thrown down by a sentient tree and rescued by a courser that he still half-suspected to have been a ghost. He hadn't exactly gotten the grand tour. How much lava were they talking?