"Do you hear that?" Fresa spoke so quietly her words were nearly bitten out, ears flat as field and eyes already wild. She peered at the vines until her eyes ached, as though she would be able to catch a clear glimpse of whatever shifted just behind them. Fresa was ill suited to the dungeon-- she'd not been well since they found her, jumping nearly out of her skin at the slightest of sounds and absolutely petrified of the eyeless, hairless creature Bunny called a child. The bat clinging to Fresa's mane was slower to startle than she. 

"I'm sure it's nothing," Bunny answered, and forced patience into her voice. It wasn't Fresa's fault she'd been sent down here to die. Even if her constant all-consuming panic did set Bunny's teeth on edge. "The dead talk all the time. You've heard them." Bunny leaned into the flank of her great golden hound for just a moment, reminding herself with the immovable weight of him that she was not alone in this place. Mouse would hear or smell any threat which approached them, as he had thus far. It still struck Bunny as odd, how easily the sightless thing could tear through unfamiliar tunnels at a gallop.

"Why do they say that?" Mouse chimed in unexpectedly-- curious more than frightened, and the whole party paused in their step to look down at the scrawny approximation of a horse. 

"Say what?" Vera raised her head as high as it would go and strained to catch whatever it was Mouse had heard. Bunny did the same, but heard only the indistinct whispering of distant undead. 

"Galatea," Mouse answered, his little ears switching every which way. Bunny grimaced. How many conversations could he hear, in this place where they thought they had been alone? 

"Galatea?" Vera repeated. "Who's that?" 

"I don't know," Bunny sighed, and turned to peer herself at the shifting shadows behind the vines. Perhaps... perhaps Fresa had a point. "Let's just turn around. Find another path."