The furnace was warm enough to bother even Etain. She ran hot, always had, able to maintain herself through the long winters high in the mountains, unprotected from the elements by the steel bars of her cage.

The view then had been monochromatic. Repetitive. A deep valley of snow, tucked away high in the mountains, the buried huts and buildings scattered along the cliffside. Etain had hated it, dreamed of warmth. Both. For years, Etain had not even known that green existed in nature. Just shades of grey.

Then the village had moved. Further down the mountain, where the snow did not pile so high. Colour did not spill so freely across the landscape, but it had been something different for a time. Stone and rock instead of ice and snow. She'd believed then, as her mane had grown, as she'd settled into her limbs, that there might just be something more.

She hadn't, then, expected that she'd find it deep underground.

Perhaps it would not be enough for always. But the green of the underground caverns; the blue of the deep caves and how they illuminated with fungi; the ochre, reds, browns, of the earthen furnace, it was enough for now.

That did not mean that she was entirely grateful for the stick on her tail against her skin, the way the oppressive heat of the furnace meant the wolf was no longer able to press against her side as they slept. Instead, Arian shivered and whimpered in her sleep. Unable to be soothed by the presence of Etain's hide against hers.

It made Etain irritable. And for once, she was glad to have Fetch's company. Etain was sure she would've found herself banned from the underground forever (even though that was surely impossible) had she been forced to walk he earthen furnace with Crispin of all people. Biting the head off the leader of the guild probably wasn't going to endear her to the more permanent denizens of the dungeon.

Still irritated from poor sleep, Arian loping along tiredly by her side, Etain raised her shoulders, lowering her head and arching her neck, as an irritating clanging noise grew louder and louder. "What is that?" She snapped, turning to glare at Fetch who trotted along without a care in the world.

"Nothing makes silence to make sound," Fetch replied.

Etain grit her teeth, grinding them back and forth. "That doesn't make sense."

Thankfully - more for Etain than Fetch perhaps, who barely let their eyes dwell on Etain in response, before turning to look ahead of them once more - something appeared to answer Etain's initial question regardless.

One of the Harvester's Soul Vine's clung to the ceiling, wilted and black, hanging down from their heads. From within it, a ghost fell, nearly atop their heads.

"Watch it!" Etain hissed, dancing away as it fell through part of her, sending her blood cold where it slid.

'The Forge', it moaned, reaching out a hand to her.

"Gods, would you guys stop trying to touch me???" Etain snapped her teeth at the spectre, and the dwarf's long, scraggly beard quivered under his chin.

'The Foooooorge.'

Well, she supposed that did make sense. The clanging metal, the hiss of steam, that… was what a forge was supposed to sound like, right?

'The Foooooooooorge.'

"Um, okay… thank you for answering my question?"

The dwarf disappeared into a wisp of steam without another word.

Arian looked up at her, a wolfish whine escaping her prematurely greyed muzzle. "Yeah this place is weird," Etain sighed. Turning, Etain followed after Fetch.