John’s lips quirk at the tap on the apple. He could take a hint and eat it now, but there is a little voice inside of him, born of hard nights on battlefield camps, that has him rationing his food even when he doesn’t strictly need to.

“The Underdark?” John repeats, musing at the name. “Sounds like a fascinating place. I do hope you were not similarly trapped there.” With said bioluminescent fungi and native flora and fauna. It doesn’t sound all that bad really, but John is getting the sense that Gale is the sort of man to downplay a situation.

He’d be interested to know more about it, certainly. It’s not like they’ve got anywhere to go or anything else to do with their time, given present circumstances.