Rakehell had hired Fetch, for she was quiet, and unintrusive - and unlikely to ask questions. He strode ahead of them, picking his way through the thick moor grass, stepping around skull and rock alike - keeping only a faint eye for valuables, and seemingly intent on a specific path. He checked landmarks more than the average dungeoneer all the way down here, and not for the same reasons - not for fear of getting lost away from the exit, no.

He'd begun to hear movements behind him, not from the side he knew Fetch to be striding on. He'd whip his head about, and drawn his long prehensile tail in closer to his body, and let himself slow, to be closer to his accompanying dungeoneer.

"... Fetch. There's been something on our tails. ... D'you-"

"Think it's real? I don't know." Their voice was dripping with shining, terrible honesty, and he nodded. Fetch picked up the pace some, and he followed suit, trying not to always check behind them. Focus on the path, the goal here, Rake.

A while later, they halted to rest, and so Rake could examine his map, to be sure they hadn't passed the area he'd been told to search - they hadn't, and they were in fact still a fair ways off from reaching it.

Agitating, if you wanted to be away from the Moor as swiftly as time would allow it.

A tense moment to consume rations, and drink water.

They both realized a while later, while hesitating to sleep, that neither of them had heard anything, or felt the search of eyes over their hides for a long stretch now.

It would have to do, and they would have to hope it did not arise again in the morning. Moments later, the relieved pair of companions settled into an exhausted, shuddering sleep. They dreamed.