Progress was slow, but it didn't bother Malovia. Rather, it was difficult to tell if she had an opinion at all. Outside of the reactionary gestures of her phantasmal hand, the ghostly mare's face was blank. There was a serene beauty to it that was mask-like. Her eyes did not twinkle nor sparkle with emotion, nor did her lips ever quiver with simper or frown. Hooded lids did not betray an exhaustion nor an inclination of affection but rather seemed to hang, contentedly at ease. Despite having been looming deeper and deeper into the Overgrown Caverns not a spot of dirt marred her ethereal hide. The icy strands of her mane and tail were pristine, swaying with a fluid grace as she seemed to glide through the passages. Every time that her path was obstructed, no matter how minute the pebble, her phantasmal hand tossed away the offending object. For larger obstacles she simply turned to find another direction, visibly unbothered.

Therefore, when the selected bridge began to shift beneath her gilded hoof, the mare took a deliberate but unhurried step back. The clicking and shushing of the giant millipede echoed in the otherwise silence chamber as it cantalevered and looked back upon the one who disturbed its slimber. Malovia studied her many reflections in its eyes as the phantom hand put itself between its master and the monstrous insectoid. It flicked at the "wrist" to brush off the beast, and when its mandibles only flared in response, the floating hand pointed more sternly off to the side. After some time the millipede dismissed the infraction against its nap and dove into the vast abyss below. The spectral mare inched towards the edge of the crag and watched as its shadow faded into the darkness below. It seemed it did not wish to offer its services today.

Never the matter.

With a flick of her silvery tress, Malvolia continued to walk along the chasm at her unrushed pace. Surely there was another way across, or around. Either or worked in the end. Besides, this offered her more time to observe the vines spawning from the compact dirt walls. They pushed through in spirals, large leaves unraveling the longer the vines grew, until they were arching overhead or fallen to the ground with fruit. Those above were small gourds woven into the root systems overhead, while the engorged pumpkins of varying colors dragging the greenery to the ground. For once, perhaps the first time ever, the phantasmal hand lurched in surprise as a small smile broke on Malvolia's lips. Yes... she'd rather like to follow and see where these came from.