[The stalactites are as high now as the stalagmites are low; the light flickers off them uncertainly, creating jagged rows of teeth on the wall. Your shadows look up and down, their small paws barely able to hold the torch or each other's hands, the uneven gait from their small feet bumping them into each other.
The torch flickers, down a third of its remaining time.
There is no fork here, but the path bends ahead, and you can't see what the tunnel holds.]