Some of the celebrants follow. The cave yawns a heavy, wet air, as though a swamp were inside over a set of hot coals. The grey creatures peer in, dart away. No light penetrates the depths of the cave, even as a brave few push torches past its lip.
“And the antidote’s in there?” Shyan asks the princess, who nods. “How’d you know?”
“Hm?” the princess says, cocking her head to look at Shyan.
“How do you know the antidote is in there?”
“Old Mossy told us. He goes in sometimes, collects the mushrooms.”
“Oh?” Cang says. “And where might this Mr. Old Mossy be at present?”
“Here,” croaks an older man, his grey skin closer to bleached than many of his companions.
“Ah, Old Mossy,” Cang cries with the ring of familiarity and long acquaintance. “Care to join us on our spelunking?”