'cause dirt on you is dirt on me, and we both know our hands ain't clean
Calan nods sagely at first, entirely prepared to confirm her sensible interpretation, but the longer Fern speaks, the farther his mouth falls open. By the time she’s finished this impromptu monologue, he’s staring at her with the same wide-eyed attention he usually reserves for one of Nonna’s stories, caught so completely by the grandeur of it that even the burning in his little thighs seems temporarily beneath notice.
"Of course we are," he declares, springing back to his feet with considerably more conviction than strength. "That’s why we were chosen for this mission." The mention of traps gives him pause, though, his brows drawing together as he considers the unfamiliar phrase. A trap designed to steal their booty is exactly the sort of underhanded obstacle a divine trial would include, and Calan immediately tightens his grip on the broom. Keeping careful watch on Fern’s feet, he turns it upside down and begins poking the next few steps with the handle, prodding around her shoes to make certain no hidden mechanism can snatch away their treasure—or her—before they reach the top.
"Of course we are," he declares, springing back to his feet with considerably more conviction than strength. "That’s why we were chosen for this mission." The mention of traps gives him pause, though, his brows drawing together as he considers the unfamiliar phrase. A trap designed to steal their booty is exactly the sort of underhanded obstacle a divine trial would include, and Calan immediately tightens his grip on the broom. Keeping careful watch on Fern’s feet, he turns it upside down and begins poking the next few steps with the handle, prodding around her shoes to make certain no hidden mechanism can snatch away their treasure—or her—before they reach the top.
if it all goes wrong and we end up on the news, if you go down I'm goin' down too
