When the group lapses into silence, Leo finds that he almost misses the chatter. Carefully picking their way through the tunnels, with nothing but the dull, echoing sound of dripping water and the footsteps behind him, he has time to remember that he's inside another turtle's hollowed-out shell. It makes his skin crawl and his spine ache with unease.

But he can't show that here. Can't let it distract him. Not behind enemy lines.

So he follows behind quietly, his feet noiselessly sinking into the soft prints Iorveth leaves in the mud and moss dotting the tunnel floor. He doesn't know the reasoning for the path they're taking, if there is one at all, but that isn't his job; for now, he simply watches the dark corners and cracks, eyes and ears peeled for signs of life other than their own.