Fremur found himself slowing down while jogging in the tunnel behind his companions. Loros and The Thief plowed ahead with the confidence of soldiers who had never experienced defeat. And indeed they hadn't. The Thief was regarded as one of the most skilled fighters in the land surrounding Goulrich. Loros the gnome was single-handedly responsible for restoring centuries old battle magic to his tribe in the forest. Confidence can win most fights, win most arguments, woo most lovers, and see someone to the end of their life having experienced the best of what this world has to offer. Confidence did just that for The Thief and Loros. It sent them into the arms of death with a steadfast precision. There was no plan. There was no hesitation. They did not check over their shoulder to see if Fremur was still in their wake. Maybe if they had all three arrived in the beast's lair at the same time they would have stood a chance. Maybe.
Fremur was still in the tunnel when he heard the battle begin. There was no clanging of metal, nor taunting of the enemy. Only screaming. He had never heard his friends make these sounds before. Once when he was only a young boy, out hunting with the hound dog that had helped raise him, they happened upon two starving goblins. Before he could think, he heard a shallow thud, and the sound of ripping parchment. One of the goblins had shot an arrow right through the neck of his hound dog. Fremur ran. Not from the goblins, but from the guilt. Guilt like a curse. Made powerful by the horrendous wails of the dog that had been there for him his whole life. He covered his ears as he ran. He came back the next day for the body, but the goblins hadn't even left a patch of fur unconsumed.
Turning and running now, towards the light of the forest and out of the cave’s tunnel system would mean running right back into the arms of that very same guilt. The decision was easy. He would try to save his friends.
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