He had wandered into a corridor of some sort that was carved into the earth. The walls and floor were smooth, though not without imperfections, and slowly his hope rose for a way out. It was quickly dashed as the wind led him to the end of the corridor and a wall of collapsed rock that prevented further progress. The wind was coming from somewhere behind the wall of rubble, but Handy could not see a source of light, which meant that whatever nooks and crannies the chill was coming from was too small for him to crawl through, and he certainly did not have the strength to start digging his way out. He screamed in frustration and beat his fist against the rock which was unyielding against his impotent fury. There was nought but chill, fire, darkness, and the sound of his own ragged breathing.