“I am not ungrateful,” the pale man said, “but life has been difficult.” I stole a glance at the others, but no one spoke. The pale man squirmed slightly in his seat. “The tunnels are dark and cold. Not only in the body, but also in the heart.” His voice was soft, as though he could not raise his volume above a whisper, and it was difficult to hear him over the din of the rowdy pub.

We had been traveling together for several days, having joined up with a caravan heading south out of Cross Timbers towards Ravenhill. This strange, soft-spoken man had acquitted himself well against the goblin raids; well enough for Harald to offer him a spot at the table here. It was the first time any of us had really heard him speak, and it was something of a shock to find that he had come from Patala, the underland.

“It is quiet there. You can hear everything moving about you, and they can hear you as well. Unnecessary sounds are not made.”

Davros drained his mug and set it back against the tabletop. “You mean like shouting?” he asked gruffly. Davros was never one to mince words himself, and I wondered if he would have done well below. The other man shook his head.

“I mean laughter.” A raucous bout of the stuff came blasting across the common room and the pale man twitched. Still unused to loud noises and bright lights, even after the trek with the caravan.

“What, you mean you don’t laugh?” Davros said incredulously. “Ain’t you tunnelers heard of jokes?”

“We laugh. Sometimes,” the pale man said. “Not often. It is not forbidden, but it is not encouraged.” He squirmed again, turning his mug around and around in his long, thin fingers. I could tell he was uncomfortable and agitated, though it seemed unlikely that he’d tell Davros to shut up.

“Davros,” I said. “Shut up.” Davros glanced at me and shrugged, standing and walking to the bar for a refill. I turned back to the pale man. “And why did you leave?”

For the first time, the pale man perked up. “I smelled the fresh air. I walked through the darkness, the night, and I returned below only when your lights came into the skies. I would have lived these two lives for many years had I not met Rose.” A wistful look came over him and Harald and I shared a smirk: the man was smitten.

“Rose?” I asked, prompting him to continue. He nodded, smiling to himself.

“Yes. My rock. I found her in a garden next to an empty stone house. She is quiet, like me. I learned to read her thoughts from the way her smile curved and the shadows crossed her face.” He fell silent, clearly lost in some memory of this woman. “She suggested I travel; learn the ways of the uplanders. When I have done this, I will return to her.”