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Okay, tally the gear. Check the ammo. Adjust the numbers. Oil your gun. Adjust your bandages. Peer into the darkness. Listen to the rattling of the tunnels.
Ask the Woodsies, who are fey and strange and have converted the last carriage to a jungle-in-motion, to shape you a walking stick. Steal a fruit from the ponderous tangle of webs and vines that form the Heart of the Wood, that little village-fragment the Wooden ones have brought with them on their great pilgrimage.
How did your escape attempt turn into sharing a transit carriage with a gaggle of travellers talking about the Great Dying and the First Light and muttering in hushed, revent tones about the nature of prophecy?
Well. If it makes them take another step into the dark and share the burdens a little, maybe they can be motivated by their little wooden icons. Maybe you should ask for one. Might as well not insult any gods down here. It's a dark place.
