Grognar's foot hovered in mid-step.
Zarnak stared down the corridor, remembering a click, a soft grinding of stone on stone, whoosh of missiles, impacts to his shoulder, belly, leg. His life draining away. The pool of flaming lamp oil, illuminating Grognar's ruined face. Blackness.
Grognar returned to where Zarnak stood trembling. He put a finger to his lips. "Zarnak no do that. Wake monsters."
Zarnak looked down, wondering why there was no blood. "Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. That was weird. Um. Let's check for traps."
* * *
"Wow, wasn't expecting that."
"Yeah. Good thing we'd just saved."