The hill country offered little in the way of distraction to them as they made their way north.
Gregor had been singing a song about barmaids of ill-repute, plugging his name into the more bawdy verses.
Danir shrugged; it passed the time.
A week out from Henbury, they'd begun to lament the lack civilization; trail rations weren't the tastiest fare.
Danir's thoughts of creature comforts were interrupted when he realized that Gregor was no longer singing.
He turned and saw Gregor, halted, and staring to their right.
The dark entrance to a forgotten mine lay just off the path.