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Now fully committed to their journey through the long derelict Corridors, Malris and Tasa advanced cautiously. Their eyes had grown wide and filled with light; Malris' like that of the stars, while Tasa retained something of Tilion's vessel's sheen. Both stretched out their free arms, for touch as well as eyesight would be vital here. Exhausted temporarily, perhaps, with the moving of the slab that had granted them passage, Malris' sword Cirlach now seemed dull as lead, its runes entirely undiscernible.
"I have some flint and tinder in my pack," Tasa ventured. "Should we light it, or spare it for an occasion of greater need?"
"Nay, I see naught amiss with lighting it," Malris responded. "We are now without two advantages we shall gradually acrue-our adjusting eyes, and the return of the rune-light. For now, the flint will be our greatest help."
They edged back against a wall and Tasa unbuckled her supplies, searching for the stones and the dry twigs that they needed. When these were found, it seemed there was fewer fuel than might be expected-very likely some sticks had been dropped in Tasa's mountainside slip-but they both reckoned it would be just about enough, and they set out soon with new hope and light.
Their hearing had grown acute as their eyes struggled, and both felt the presence of still, but slightly rippling, water, in a large body, not so far away; which Malris guessed might be the lake which had brought the Dwarve's old toils to a stop. Hoping that it might lead them eventually to seawater, they decided to proceed in its direction.
Ripples do not form in lakes by mere idle whim.
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