Runyalos is, as a rule, not one for dank and dark places; it was why he delayed venturing into the dungeons for so long - he had tried once, as a yearling, hated it in its entirety, and never tried again - but now that he is utterly alone and has nothing to lose, here he is. In a dank, dark, dripping dungeon, looking for anything vaguely valuable to bring in some coin into his empty coffers, and tide him over through the harvest season. Thus far, it has been relatively bearable, with nothing disgusting sticking to his fur or catching on his hooves. He knows it won't last, though.

And it doesn't. 

It only takes an hour of walking down the well-trodden stone path to reach a fork in the tunnel, and after a momentary hesitation (there hadn't been a fork on the map...) he decides to take the nearest turn, going east. The guildmaster had assured him that his current path was well-suited to a new adventurer, and while he was not intimately familiar with Crispin, his brother had been; so surely the map was simply mistaken. He adjusts the strap of his pack, tucking the now-uselss map back inside, and lets out a high whinny, answered by a shrieking hoot.

Olórin, his owl companion, glides down to perch on his pack on silent wings, offering Runyalos a considering look. The barn owl's keen eyesight had been his primary motivation to bring him below - where otherwise he would not wish to put such a dear friend in danger - and as the bird seems to be unruffled, he nods and continues onwards.

The path grows steadily more damp and dank as he goes lower and lower, and strange vines begin creeping out between the cracks in the stone. They are a verdant, shocking green in the darkness - which he does not quite understand, sunlight being in short supply hundreds of feet below ground. Olórin takes wing as the vines grow thicker and thicker, causing Runyalos to have to squeeze through the thick vegetation; the bird flies ahead without a sound, and Runyalos takes a moment to wish bitterly that he could also simply fly past any obstacle.

It takes a good bit of time to struggle through the packed tunnel, careful not to crush any vines too horribly. The cavern abruptly widens only a few feet past the thickest obstruction, revealing a strange sight - a pitcher plant, big enough to swallow up even a Courser as large as Runyalos. The plant's mouth yawns wide enough that he can see within without approaching too closely - and within, he spies the slowly-dissolving bones of what can only be another horse. The plant exudes a sickly-sweet smell, and were he not so cautious, he might have called it rather compelling.

Foul thing.

He's not sure how his unfortunate kin managed to fall into the plant's trap, and has no wish to - he spies Olórin perched on a vine on the other side of the plant, and the owl flutters over at his request to lead him around the thick, tripping vines. After a few minutes of navigating the plant, he manages to come out to another tunnel - this one blessedly clear of any pesky, carnivorous vegetation; he offers a belated prayer for the dead beforecomer, whispers a thanks to Olórin, and continues on his way.