Indeed, it had his clothes, and he put them back on, uncaring that he was still covered in slimy goo. He had remained in the stuff for three days—he could handle it dirtying his clothes. He placed his packbag over his back again and reached into it, pulling out the two slivers of metal from his adventure in the mine. He had sharpened them, for the usefulness of a knife went without saying. He placed them in his belt for convenient access before turning to the abused queen, who was shakily rising to her feet and glancing nervously over at Handy.