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“What is it?” She shoved their foot. “I’m in the narrowest part. Please, go.”

“I’m trying.”

“Trying?”

Georgie kicked.

She wiggled back farther. “What are you doing?”

The oppressive little cranny filled with a scuffling sound, punctuated by kicks and grunts. Foreboding sent her stomach rising toward her throat. She rested the point of her chin on the chill stone, an attempt to ease the painful crick in her neck.

“Hurry,” she urged.

“I can’t.” Their voice was tight. “There’s mud, where outside should be. I saw it. It just slid off the mountain. Because of the shoveling, or the rain—I don’t know. I’m trying to dig through it. But I can’t do anything more than scratch with my fingers.” They were kicking, she realized, in time with the scratching. “It’s so bloody dense. And there’s so much of it. I can’t get into a decent position to—gah!”

There was a sickeningly sharp rap, like an iron knocker against a door, and then silence.

She lifted up, the one possible inch. “Was that your head?”

A groan was the response.

“Are you all right?”

Another groan.

They’d only just recovered from the curricle crash. Their skull might not have healed. What if they’d cracked it open? What if they lost consciousness?

Fear crooked a finger around her windpipe.

She reached out blindly and grasped their ankle. “We should get you sitting up.” She towed them, reversing slowly, using her elbows, and her hips, the brass lantern rasping and shrieking on the stone, as though in pain.

After the first tugs, Georgie groaned louder and began to move under their own power. Once she’d backed into the chamber, she cast aside the useless lantern and knelt. Moments later, she was struck by Georgie’s feet, and then she was tangled with them, each arranging their limbs with difficulty, given the confines of the space. When it seemed she was facing them, she groped for their head.

“Hold still.” She slid her fingers into their slippery hair. Their indrawn hiss coincided with her discovery of a nasty lump. She skimmed over it and continued probing their skull. “Everything is intact at least. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been buried alive, with a migraine.” They sounded sardonic. It was oddly reassuring.

Her fingers were still stroking through their hair.

“I’ll dig us out.” She withdrew. Her heartbeat felt jerky. “Stupid,” she whispered, and sat, shuffling backward until her spine hit the wall. “Stupid. This was so stupid of me.”

“Zealous,” Georgie offered, settling next to her.

“Overzealous.”

They didn’t disagree.

She flexed her hands. They ached. What if she couldn’t dig through the mud? What if neither of them could?

“You’re shaking.” Georgie’s shoulder touched hers.

“It’s cold.” She hesitated. “And ever so slightly horrifying.”

“Being buried alive?”

“Don’t call it that.”

“Being below ground with no egress, probably forever?”