There was nothing good to lose in the dungeons. Nothing one wanted to drop off the edge of a gully and down, down, down into the roiling mass of red and orange magma waiting below. Yet somehow, as she watched her compass tumble away, Dahlia thought she might have found the worst thing to lose. What now? Dahlia sat back on her haunches with a huff, staring mournfully over the edge at the spot where her compass had vanished. 

"Don't suppose you have another one down your gullet," she mumbled, "eh, Sausage?" 

The scuttling approximation of a chest strapped tight against Dahlia's ribcage-- for its own protection-- gnashed its teeth and wriggled. Whether that was a 'no' or a 'yes' Dahlia couldn't tell, but either way there would be no retrieving any compass swallowed by the mimic. 

"Let's just... hope we can find someone down here who knows their way out. Can't be the only ones in the furnace tonight, right?"