<strong><em><span class="bbc_u">Fern</span></em></strong><br/><br/>Cocking her head to one side, Fern crouches behind Draque listening,  just listening, as he works to remove the trap, giving a nod of approval at his success and his caution.  Her line of cheerful chatter long gone as they slogged through the muck.  The closer they got to their destination the further removed from her childlike countenance she became.<br/><br/>Blowing on her fingers to warm chilled tips brought little relief but it wouldn't do to lose sensitivity just when it was needed most.   Fern peers through the gloom trying to pierce the miasma, vainly trying to see beyond her ability to what lie ahead, her habitual grin gone with the last of her dry clothing.<br/><br/>Miaren's comment brought a bit of the usual quirk look to her face.  "We ain't got that kind luck." she whispers ruefully.  "figure on it bein as bad as it can get then ya don't get surprised.. cept pleasantly."<br/><br/>The cry from within brings a grimace, a flash of anger to Fern's eyes, her whispered voice hot.  "Shit.  We best hurry or we ain't gonna have nothing left ta save".<br/>