As she ascended from the bunker, Marron still smelled it--earthy and slightly musty. It clung onto her clothes, and more than that--she felt like she carried the Lieutenant's words with her. Like pebbles inside sneakers.
In these tunnels, two pairs of footsteps echoed: hers and the mimic guard's. He was silent as stone, sword dragging gently against the ground.
When they returned to the fourth floor, Marron kept her eyes down. She didn't want to see the looks on the other mimics' faces as they walked. One of them understood and instead whispered, "I can't wait for you to feed us."
And then another mimic echoed, "feed us," but had awe in their voice. A third said "feed, feed, feed," in a hungry and desperate voice.
Marron imagined they weren't looking at her, exactly. They were reacting to what her food could potentially do for them.
Feeding mimics until they were strong enough to overwhelm the Adventurer's Guild.
She was also getting more worried by the day.
