Oirhandir gaped at the tunnel's entrance while thinking out loud.
"Unless it descends, or coils about the interior like a snake, it can't be much longer than this hill is wide," he observed. "I suppose that it's worth taking a quick look, but if we find that it's larger than it appears, we should post a guard and plan on exploring it all tomorrow. At the very least, we should camp outside tonight rather than get carried away by poking around in there."
The hill with the squat tunnel reminded him of a barrow-mound and it's entrance, and Orihandir had no great desire to squeeze into such an oppressive space when there was still a sky to sleep under tonight.
But other thoughts he kept to himself. He thought of the being who had scrawled on Rupert's map. Unless that one had found an end in the belly of one of the crocodile's long-dead ancestors, there was no reason whatsoever to think that he hadn't returned and cleared out any treasure the mound still held. If this was the passage that was used to carry out sacks of booty ages ago, it had not closed up since. Any traveler who wandered into this part of the world could not help but find it...and it had been what, centuries? An entire life-span of one of Oirhandir's kind? No, either the hill held some yet undiscovered dark secret, or it would be a stroke of luck indeed if there was anything to be found in this swamp besides a crocodile skin that was worth carrying back to Rupert.
Oirhandir longed to start a campfire atop the mound, and to play his chimes under the stars. The stars would break through tonight, wouldn't they? He wondered.
"Unless it descends, or coils about the interior like a snake, it can't be much longer than this hill is wide," he observed. "I suppose that it's worth taking a quick look, but if we find that it's larger than it appears, we should post a guard and plan on exploring it all tomorrow. At the very least, we should camp outside tonight rather than get carried away by poking around in there."
The hill with the squat tunnel reminded him of a barrow-mound and it's entrance, and Orihandir had no great desire to squeeze into such an oppressive space when there was still a sky to sleep under tonight.
But other thoughts he kept to himself. He thought of the being who had scrawled on Rupert's map. Unless that one had found an end in the belly of one of the crocodile's long-dead ancestors, there was no reason whatsoever to think that he hadn't returned and cleared out any treasure the mound still held. If this was the passage that was used to carry out sacks of booty ages ago, it had not closed up since. Any traveler who wandered into this part of the world could not help but find it...and it had been what, centuries? An entire life-span of one of Oirhandir's kind? No, either the hill held some yet undiscovered dark secret, or it would be a stroke of luck indeed if there was anything to be found in this swamp besides a crocodile skin that was worth carrying back to Rupert.
Oirhandir longed to start a campfire atop the mound, and to play his chimes under the stars. The stars would break through tonight, wouldn't they? He wondered.