Ingryd chuckles." You need more hair!"
'Though I have the blood of a Grizzly in me, it takes alot of cold to get me." The honey haired bearkin says as she giggles.
"F-f-f-from th-th-the N-n-north. P-p-prob-b-bab-b-bly s-s-spent t-t-to m-m-m-m-much t-t-time i-in Z-z-z-z-z-zob-beck," Raseri says, though she can only remember a half-dozen times that she was this cold, and most of those have been in the past few days.
Scram was rather physically comfortable from up on her hairy heated seating, wrapped up in custom fitted neon furs. But something was filling the thief with unease mentally "Six, I can't say what's up ahead, but I know what's behind. Tracks in the snow leading right to this spot. Aint gonna take a master rangin' bounty punk to follow us in here. If we're gonna linger might keep on yer toes..."
"T-t-t-t-tracks th-th-th-that howling w-w-w-winds and f-f-f-f-falling s-s-s-s-snow w-w-w-wwill s-s-s-s-soon ob-b-b-bs-s-s-scure."
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After they finally get though, Luthael offers, ”let’s warm up and get ready for spleunking.” He tries not to focus on Raseri’s temperature.
Scram pretended to nod in understanding, the whims of the Margreve being deadly at one end and very helpful for sneaking at the other. With a shrug, she scouted ahead. Ingryd would just rip the face off whatever came, anyways.
While Luthael ponders the least embarrassing way to warm the shivering priestess, Scramsax and his faithful familiar slip further into the depths of the tunnel. Silent as death, dark as night.
Examining the sandy floor, you find dim evidence of tracks. Tracks quite old. It has been a very long time since anyone has made their way along the tunnel. Continuing a little further, the path branches with one continuing northeast, the other leading due east. The water sounds come from the eastern tunnel. Inspecting the intersection further, you discover a series of three marks carved into the rock of the northeast tunnel. To most, the marks would easily be mistaken as just naturally occurring grooves in the rocks, but to one who spent years among the smugglers and thieves of Barsella it is easy to recognize it as a smuggler's mark.
"Th-th-the b-b-b-brush w-w-we c-cut aw-w-w-way, th-th-th-that sh-sh-should h-h-h-help," Raseri tells Luthael as Scramsax scouts the path ahead.
Scramsax was about to make a conscious decision to end the universe again but zappo! At the last second, the merciful halfling altered her plan, returning to the party. "Fork up there. Sounds like one 'o the fox's springs to the right, but Fuzzy's path continues up north a bit. Saw the smuggler's mark. With any luck, cavern preserved the rest of his marks too. What do you say, Darrel? Any of those waterways a hot spring by luck?"