Marc, Twain & Fin

“It’s all shades of dark and dank down here,” Twain said. “And smells like burned matches.”
“Finally a place that isn’t fodder for those erotic novels?” Marc said, bumping shoulders against Rye.
“Well. . .”
Fin giggled nervously and the sound hopped ahead of them.

Three friends (also Commoner-raised Tellurics) Rye makes while in Gatreau.