The roots hanging from the cavern ceiling varied in length, most of them dangling halfway down. Mahama had to transform into a giant and jump to reach them.
Ruger believed that even without Mona's help, Mahama could drive away the Gray Mist Python by rolling around on the ground like a child demanding candy, or by some other method. The method was not what mattered. What mattered was that Mahama could endure it and keep enduring.
He tilted his head back, his view swaying with his steps. He thought those roots looked like the earth's beard, and they were walking beneath that interesting beard. Unfortunately, there was no wind here. Otherwise, it would have been quite amusing to watch them sway in the breeze.
Clack-clack!
The Monster Wolf seemed to agree, opening and closing its huge jaws.
This interconnected underground world beneath the Island reminded him of the region occupied by the Kobolds, of those caves and hunting grounds.
Gradually, as he watched the roots, he fell behind.
Mahama and Mona seemed to be walking ahead, speaking to each other in low voices.
Keeping his head tilted back, he said, "Do you think the person who came to rescue us might already be dead—"
"Possible," Big Guy said with a shrug, not turning around. "Or perhaps he's chasing down a newly discovered clue about an Oddity. Wizards have always been free, and surveying the Island is essential anyway."
Ruger neither agreed nor disagreed, continuing forward with his head raised.
How free could they really be? There was always serious business to handle. They would meet eventually.
Whenever they reached a fork in the road, Mona stopped to choose a direction.
As Ruger watched the ever-changing ceiling overhead, he thought of the Path Seekers of the Knowledge Temple. Were those people