"Sure," Stutely agreed, noncommittal. Much was craning a little to see the map, so he passed it over.
Much was having good feelings about a lot of things lately. He'd been spewing good feelings all over the place ever since they'd piled into the van outside the Fox, and every time he did, Stutely's gut writhed with a complicated morass of emotions.
They all agreed Wyoming was a solid lead. Stutely would never have put it on the table if he hadn't thought so. But Much was treating it almost like a foregone conclusion – WE'RE GONNA FIND ART, STOOTS!! he'd messaged in all-caps excitement – and Stutely feared that certainty as much as he envied it. He wanted to feel that optimism, to truly believe that, this time, things would work out just as they ought – and he dreaded what would become of it if this search led only to dead ends. He didn't want to watch the hope in Much's eyes shatter.
As they pushed onward, the trees did grow denser, pressing in on their path and forcing them to walk close together. At least the weather was easing up a bit. The snowfall was finally petering off, and pale fingers of sunlight danced on the path ahead of them.
Stutely sighed. He knew he was being a stick in the mud. Maybe he couldn't quite manage optimism, but being back in the forest, a couple of his best mates by his side, that was... well, it was nothing to sneeze at, yeah? "'S just about midday. How's about we find this stream and break out the sarnies?"
He never felt the trap trigger. He never even saw it. Next he knew, a coarse rope net was closing around the three of them, hurling them together as they were scooped upward.