Things were getting easier with time. Being in the dungeons, focusing on something other than his own thoughts, it's good for Carson. More soothing than it should be. The solitude is nice, and exploring is taxing enough to fill the void... or he'd keep telling himself as much. Figuring out the puzzles his new environment provided, facing the dangers of the new profession, and all. A solitary beast, at least he doesn't have to pretend to have his shit together when there's no audience. No one to perform for. Carson was fairly certain that's the way he liked it. Hell, that's the most certainty he can get.

Pulled from the noise in his head by the next room of the dungeon, faced with a crack. More than a crack-- basically a ravine. Carefully, Carson approaches, looks over the edge. It's a long way down, longer than he'd like to think about for too long. Nope, not dwelling on that one. A further inspection of the area, the outlaw's attention is drawn to a bridge. With no barriers on either side, of course, but a bridge all the same. Was the placement too convenient? Perhaps. Doesn't matter when it's the only option. After scowling at it for a long moment, Carson realizes it's his only option.

Tentatively, he sets a hoof on it. Seemed solid enough. It's not until he's got all four feet on that the alleged bridge starts to move. "Son of a bitch," the words are growled under his breath, ears pinning clean to his skull. The outlaw has a game time decision to make-- this is truly the only way he's getting to the other side, and he's not in the mood to end this run early. End the run early, or worse, the grim thought crosses his mind once more. Fucking insects. Why does it always have to be insects?

Before things can get worse, Carson makes off like a bat out of hell. Head down, shoulders forward. The faster he goes, the less time he's got to fall off. A little pity, as well, for the creature beneath his feet. Still, it's got too many legs to feel too badly about it. Slipping and stumbling as he moves, all other thoughts are gone from his head. For as much as he'd worried about being chased off the bridge, or the whole thing giving way beneath his weight, this is worse. Much worse.

A harrowing crossing, but as long as he's confident enough... surely that's what counts. Confident enough that he can stabilize himself, confident that he can make it to the end. He's familiar with earthquakes, surely this isn't much different? Couldn't be much different. Lying to himself has become something of a sport, for Carson. If he lies to himself long enough, hard enough, then at least some of those lies have to prove true. Sweat pooling in his shoulders, foam gathering in the corners of his mouth, and something that could pass for genuine fear in his chest. All the marks of a man who's doing a great job lying to himself.

Faking it until he makes it, that's how the days have gone, lately. Carson doesn't stop running until he nearly hits the wall on the other side of the crack. Stopping on a dime, only to sag heavily against the wall while he catches his breath. Heart still pounding in his chest, like it's trying to escape. The outlaw takes a long moment to rest. Several long moments. Letting himself calm down, trying to calm his nerves and steady his mind before continuing on. Hopefully there aren't more insects waiting for him.