There's no direct way back to Tamminy, that much is clear. The chain reaction of the collapse has turned the criss-cross of paths behind them into indistinguishable and treacherous dunes of rusted sheet metal, corroded bolts and beams, engines decayed beyond salvaging. Jutting out atop the heap sits an ancient steam engine, cracked open like a lobster and left exposed to the sky for the first time in years. In the aftermath, the deafening noise has dwindled to low creaks and groans that rise erratically above the wind. The shroud of quiet is beginning to settle once more. But there’s no time to rest on their heels. Someone set that trap. Someone wanted to keep intruders out.

Someone must have heard that tumult.

Beyond the immediate wreckage around them, three paths open that run more-or-less parallel ahead through the junk. It's hard to be sure with the sky darkly overcast, no reference points to be seen amid the ragged landscape, but it seems like the paths go roughly in the direction they were originally aiming for. From down the one to the far left, carried on the wind, comes a quiet, harsh sound, like murmured orders…