[ That tells him nothing about the arm, which — Aymeric thinks, scrutinizing it for a moment more — looks like exposed bone, now that they're closer, with twine and metal imitating muscle. How can that be possible? How, more pressingly, can he wield a sword with it?

The cavern interrupts his wonder with a steep drop.

Aymeric frowns at it, peering over the ledge. The light of the spell doesn't reach the bottom as well as he'd like; the floor of the tunnel is dark. He turns to survey the rock around them: the jutting stalagmites could take a rope, and the grappling hooks are enchanted. He shrugs his own off his shoulder, wraps it around a stalagmite as securely as he can manage, takes a step back, and tugs sharply, leaning away, letting it bear his weight.

The rope creaks, but the hook and the knot hold. ]

This seems a strange formation, does it not? [ He drops his bag at Wolf's feet— ] Pray cast this to me when I reach the base, if you would— [ —and he wraps the rope around one of his gloved hands, backing toward the edge. ] How does a ledge so high come to be in a cavern so otherwise small?

[ He pauses, glancing skeptically behind him as he starts to descend, one foot balanced on the edge of the rock. ]

If I land in a lake, I suppose this will be a foolish question.