Jimjar's eyes glittered with eagerness at Kamael's offer of a bet. The little deep gnome pointed at Brinn, "It'll catch us, he'll miss his first kick, then hit with his fist." Jimjar fished in a pocket and pulled out a fish hook. No twine, just a hook. "Here's my wager, where's yours?" He eyed Kamael with mistrust.
Just then, there was an audible low moan from deep behind the group, back down the path. The groan echoed in the stillness of the passageway, amplified as long sound waves stretched down the straightway. At the tail end of the moaning, a wind kicked up. Dirt eddied and whirled in blustering maelstroms that stung eyes and clotted nostrils. It became hard to breathe. The groaning grew louder.