You return to the town square with new questions. This time, you don't ask what people saw. You ask what they remember being told. An elderly man sitting outside the bakery nods slowly when you mention the deep folk. "My grandmother used to speak of them," he says. "She called them the cave gnomes—folk of the deep mountains." A woman mending a basket nearby listens in. "They're kind, or so the stories say," she adds. "But be careful. They fear humans. Too many caves were taken from them when the towns grew and people mined the mountains." Another voice joins in—a shepherd passing through with his flock. "They don't come out in the sun," he says. "Their eyes are made for dim places. Bright light hurts them." You glance toward the distant mountains, their cliffs catching the fading light. You know where to look next. You need to go to the hidden tunnels.