Mine Folly

[Yvonne]

A small splash, a rippling disturbance through the pond and a little black hand poked up through the water’s surface. Fingers fully extended, reaching, finding Lilly. The half-and-halfling could scarcely see through the dark water - she’d splashed herself in the face as she struggled to keep her head above the surface, so her vision was distorted. Clasping to her companion’s arm the tension throughout her own relaxed, a calm befalling the submerged mage.

With a meek pull at Lillian’s elbow, considerate of her friend’s well being more so than her own, Yvonne made her way to the edge of the pond. Also grabbing onto the dry stone she lifted herself out, dripping all over, cold and wet as expected. Taking a deep breath and holding it, to settle her nerves of the chilly surprise, she exhaled fully to the very bottom of her lungs. Inhaling another tip-top breath she let it out much quicker, feeling better already.

“So happy yer okay. So happy!” Yvonne blurted out, her breathing still a bit unsteady. “I thought ye were done for. Ye were tha picture of health one minute and tha next ye-- ye--” she tried, failed, couldn’t finish her sentence. She shook her head instead, her lip quivering uncontrollably. The drow-dwarf would’ve cried again but there weren’t any tears left to give, her eyes swollen and puffy from earlier emotion. A head shake conveyed her message adequately however - Lilly would gather all she felt and understood, filling in the blanks remaining.

Yvonne would have hugged the weakened dark elf but the little one was dripping. That would make her colder and Lilly didn’t need to be shivering after a close-shave with never ending darkness. No, Yvonne simply sat right beside her and pooled a puddle in her general direction. She needed something else to warm them both up, but how could she do that without first heading back to town? It wasn’t like there were any sticks down here, excluding that horrible necromantic death-stick of course.

“Would ye like some tea sweetheart? Help ye recover yer energy, warm ye up a bit and then we can be heading back,” Yvonne offered, thinking she had everything necessary to improvise some either tucked away in her backpack or here in the flooded mine shaft. Though they’d each be sipping it from her trusty cooking pot - the very same she’d considered leaving behind in her room at the Graceful Bark.

The moral of the story; never go anywhere without yer cooking pot kids.