[As you turn the last corner, your torch goes out.
In the dark of the tunnel, the clip-clop of your hooves seems suddenly loud, and the tunnel itself almost too narrow; stone brushes your flanks, and you feel it with each swish of your tail. The ceiling, at least, is high and clear; your horns don't even brush the rocks that could be hanging there. And you're together, you can feel it, smell it, the presence of another of your kind familiar and soothing, even in this place.
Up ahead, distantly, you smell fresh water and green pastures.]