Nazgul stalked through the dimly lit halls. Her nostrils flared as the scent of mould and stagnant water teased her senses. She was on edge. Her stomach growled loudly, echoing through the cavern like a predator's warning. Hunger gnawed at her insides, and with every step, her patience thinned.

Beside her floated Khamûl, a ghostly hand—pale and spectral. His presence was silent but ever watchful. Though he had no voice, Khamûl communicated with Nazgul through gestures, using a unique sign language they had devised during their time together. He hovered close, gliding smoothly above the ground, his faint aura of cold brushing against the mare's side like a chill breeze.

Nazgul snorted, shaking her mane as her eyes narrowed, scanning for any sign of movement—friend or threat, it didn't matter to her at this point. Leather straps creaked as she shifted, her ears twitching at every sound. She was a proud and fierce creature, often aggressive, and the gnawing hunger made her even more irritable.

Khamûl signed something, his ethereal fingers tracing shapes in the air. *Careful, something ahead.*

Nazgul halted, her tail flicking. Her sharp eyes caught the glow of something moving just beyond the next bend in the cavern. A ghostly figure emerged from the shadows, holding aloft a banner. Upon it was the image of a majestic white stag with golden horns, gleaming even in the gloom.

It was the ghost of an elf, tall and slender, with ethereal features that shimmered like moonlight on water. His hair flowed like silver threads, and his eyes were as cold as the depths of a forgotten well. He spoke, his voice soft but unintelligible—a melodic string of words that felt like distant winds or the murmurs of leaves in a language far older than anything Nazgul or Khamûl understood.

The elf showed no sign of hostility, merely gazing at them as though they were curiosities from another world. The banner swayed gently in his hand, and his posture was calm, almost welcoming.

Nazgul’s stomach growled again, louder this time, breaking the stillness between them. She pawed at the ground, ears pinned back in irritation. To her, this ghost was nothing more than an obstacle between her and the next meal. Her body tensed, muscles rippling beneath her leather armour.

Khamûl signed rapidly, fingers moving with urgency. *Not a threat. Leave it.*

Nazgul snorted again, tossing her head. She had no patience for cryptic elves or their strange banners. Whatever the spirit was trying to communicate, it meant nothing to her, not now. She needed food, and this ghost was not going to help with that.

The elf continued speaking in his strange tongue, his eyes seeking understanding, but Nazgul had already made her decision. Without a second glance, she turned sharply, her hooves clattering against the stone floor. Khamûl floated beside her, waving a final goodbye at the ghostly figure before following his companion deeper into the dungeon.

As they moved farther away, the elf’s voice faded into the distance, leaving behind only the echoes of words never understood.

The cavern grew darker, the twisting roots thicker and more oppressive. Nazgul’s hunger drove her forward, her mind focused solely on the thought of food. Khamûl hovered in silence, watchful as always, though he shared her frustration. Together, they pressed on, deeper into the Overgrown Cavern, in search of sustenance—hoping that whatever lay ahead would be more tangible than ghostly elves and their cryptic banners.