The scent of smoke and charred meat tantalised and intrigued. Tamsin’s stomach growled in response, his rations long since run out and his desire to trace back the way he’d already come in order to find the vendor he’d seen in days past was not particularly appealing.

He was here to move onward, not to go back.

But someone else lunching here in the dungeon? That definitely seemed like a great idea to him. Tamsin’s hooves picked up speed as he trotted on, muzzle held high as he followed the scent of food. Or the scent of… something.

The cooking meat smell soured as he got closer, something underneath the appeal tasting… wrong, on the air. Metallic, almost. What could they possibly be cooking that smelled like that?

Tamsin’s hooves clattered and struck too loud on the floor as he rounded the corner and the sight that met him had him halting in his place. Frozen in horror.

It was not a friendly campfire, manned by some rugged, older Courser waiting to teach him the ways of the dungeon. This Courser would not give him sage advice and send him on his way. Because the Courser he saw now was bloodied and burning.

They were too far gone now to scream, Tamsin realised. Their flanks heaved, flinched away from the heat that licked over their hide, burned away what was left of their mane, their tail already long gone. The Courser was alive, but they did not scream.

It was some time much later that Tamsin left the scent of char behind. His stomach still rumbled, but even imagined food made what was little left within it now creep up into his throat.

For days after, Tamsin felt as if the scent of smoke and iron stuck to his hide, following him.