Ter coughed, wishing he'd been able to take a precaution like their guide. Instead he peeled off his thin shirt, already soaked in his sweat from earlier, and wrapped it around his head and mouth, almost like the headcloth of some desert nomad. His torso was crisscrossed with scars, large and small, including a particularly nasty one that cut down his entire right side. But he was still lean, wiry, spring-coiled muscle. He glanced back at the others and tipped his head, one hand moving to wipe away sweat matted hair cling to his forehead.

"I'll take this one." His voice was muffled behind his improvised mask, but clear enough. He paused for a moment, eyes closed as he took in a breath, then another, gathering his mind and body for the trial ahead, kicked off his shoes. Then he took his first unhesitating steps out onto the beam, arms extended as he moved along with the practiced motion of a man who'd spent years traversing the rigging of sailing ships and slipping silently down dark corridors.