The bird, yellow with gray wings, flitted ahead of the group as they shuffled along in the bubble of torchlight. It’d followed them for days now, or they it.
The leader, Brywulf, had wondered at the songbird so long underground. Its black eyes twinkled from a niche at the side of the tunnel.
She turned, looking to where Lybrotte, Sulder, and O’Peth, members of her guild, held position. “We’ve gone too far,” Sulder broke in. Lybrotte, armor bright, nodded agreeance.
O’Peth, mute, looked instead to Brywulf, whose eyes glittered in the frail light. “Check the map,” said Sulder.
O’Peth brought out the palimpsest, companions leaning to study in earnest, cupping carefully the flames of sparking torches, to keep the sketch from harm. They murmured amongst themselves.
But O’Peth continued to watch Brywulf, studying the tilt of her head, the occasional sidelong whistle, and whispers to something unseen in the shadows.