“You thought it.”
“I think many stupid things. I don’t obey all of them.”
“That is fortunate.”
“Careful,” she warns, her eyes cutting to me.
I incline my head. She taps the map.
“Second site first. If it’s also empty, we decide whether the third is worth the risk.”
“No third site until we understand why the first failed.”
“Then we may never reach the third.”
“Yes.”
Her mouth tightens. “You’re very calm about returning with nothing.”
“I am not calm.”
She studies me closely. I turn my attention to the map before she can find more than I want to give. She turns the hide toward me.
“Show me where the tunnel runs.”
I point to the basin curve.
“The old passage likely came under here. It did not cross the surface. It would have pushed beneath the rim, followed softer stone, and then cut east again.”
“Toward the sinkline.”
“Yes.”
She frowns at the marks. “But the hollow behind us was north of this line.”
“Yes.”
“So either there are older branching tunnels under the basin…”
“Likely.”
“Or the zemlja disturbed passages it did not travel through directly.”
“Also likely.”
“You know, when humans give two answers, one is usually meant to be more helpful,” she says, glaring at me.
“Zemlja tunnels branch and collapse. Pressure travels through old voids. A body moving deep can wake weaknesses above without passing beneath your foot.”
She looks back toward the hollow where I pulled her from the sand.
“So it didn’t have to be under me.”
“No.”
“It only had to make the ground remember it could fall.”
“Yes.”
