The others are awake when I return, already sorting through the last of the food that's even remotely edible. I manage a hunk of bread that's fairly clear of mold and a small slab of what smells like salted ham enough I risk it, the round, orange fruit I peel when I'm done unfortunately rotten to the center and inedible.
I discard it in disgust and return to the fountain to rinse my hands and drink deeply, two scoops of clear coldness doing wonders to restore and refresh me. My HW level has reached twenty again, so I'm grateful for the rest, but we have another door to check and, ultimately, a chasm to find a way across if we hope to leave this place and not die of old age here.
A chilling thought, though age will likely not be our fate if the lack of food we're now facing is any indicat
