Right is right, or at least so it seems! The instant all three of them slip to the right, the tunnel suddenly grows wider. But it also stops about three feet ahead, despite the fact a moment ago it seemed endless. There's a small cart suddenly there, big and a little rusted, and in it . . .

Copper ore. Mounds of it, green and red, stacked in a haphazard pile. Dust is settled on it, suggesting it's been here for some time, along with a broken lantern, a pickaxe, and one single, darkly stained glove.

How odd.

They don't have long to speculate, though, because guess who's back. It's Molly they go for this time, and it's more than just hands: something wraps tightly around the length of his body, binding his legs, his arms to his side-- and then the sensation of something rooting an groping around his face, over his chin, up and up and then there, and two tendrils slip where they shouldn't, slipping into his eye sockets, severing, pulling--

But then again, how bad is blindness when one's in a dark tunnel, right?