[DD2] DD2 - Things Lost
The Earthen Furnace stretched out in a maze of blistering chasms, every crack and crevice shimmering with heat. Nazgul's hooves clacked over the narrow stone bridge that arched across a lake of molten lava. The relentless heat made even her sturdy frame tense with every step. She couldn’t imagine anything thriving in this infernal landscape.
Khamûl’s presence, a ghostly hand resting lightly near her shoulder, was the only thing grounding her as they navigated the hellish expanse. He would occasionally pat her neck, his touch weightless but steady, offering her a silent assurance. She couldn’t fully explain it, but even with his ghostly form, she knew he sensed her unease.
Halfway across the bridge, a sudden shift in her saddlebag snapped her attention away from the bubbling lava below. She twisted her head, catching sight of Khamûl’s carefully gathered pouch of herbs, teetering at the edge of the bag. With a sudden movement, the pouch broke free, tumbling off the saddle and spinning toward the fiery lake below.
Nazgul lunged, biting at the air in a desperate attempt to catch it, but it was no use. Her teeth clamped around empty space as she watched the pouch plummet and disappear with a soft plop into the molten lake.
A mix of frustration and guilt twisted in her chest as she stared down into the lava. She knew Khamûl had carefully collected those herbs, taking great care to find them in the dark, hidden places he seemed to know so well. She could almost feel his gaze, though he made no sound or sign. She braced herself, shoulders tensing as she waited for his reaction.
Then, softly, she felt a light touch as Khamûl’s fingers drifted against her forehead. In the air before her, he signed in slow, gentle motions, Do not worry. I can always find more.
The simple message left her staring, unsure of how to respond. She snorted, shifting her weight as a wave of frustration and relief washed over her. For all her strength and sharp instincts, this small loss left her feeling strangely helpless.
Khamûl’s hand floated, hovering before her as he tapped her nose with a light touch, calming her in his own quiet way. His reassurance settled over her like a cool balm, even as the furious heat roared from below.
They moved on, her steps more grounded, even though the air grew thicker with heat. She let her breath steady, accepting that the pouch of herbs, however precious, was not irreplaceable. Her frustration began to melt away, replaced by a quiet resolve.
Once they had crossed the bridge, Khamûl floated down to survey the jagged rocks on either side of their path. He lingered near cracks where the heat softened, places where shadows gathered like whispers against the fiery glow. With careful movements, his hand drifted into the crevices, brushing gently against strange fungi that seemed to thrive even here—dark clumps of moss and small tendrils of lichen with silver streaks woven into them.
Nazgul watched, quietly observing as he selected small fragments, pieces that would make up for what had been lost. His fingers were as careful as ever, moving with a practiced grace that she had come to trust.
They had gathered what they could, and as he returned to her side, Khamûl signed again, Things grow back. They find a way.
Nazgul felt something relax in her chest, a tension she hadn’t realized was there. With a grateful snort, she nudged him softly, her breath warm against his form. He responded by patting her neck, the quiet gesture sealing a silent promise that the road ahead—no matter how hot or uncertain—was one they would face together.
Together, they continued, their journey deeper into the Furnace feeling lighter now, unburdened by the small loss. It was a quiet reminder that while the flames of the Furnace would consume all that they could, there was a strength between them, something forged in their silent companionship. No herbs, no pouch, nor even a lake of fire, could replace that bond.
Submitted By fable
for Level 2 Dungeon Dive
Submitted: 1 month ago ・
Last Updated: 1 month ago