As the two merely flesh and blood beings slept, their metallic servitor watched over their sleeping bodies, his eyes always roaming, his auditory units waiting for the first hint that there was something untoward happening. And yet, for hour after hour, as his compatriots slept, nothing happened, aside from the slow drip of a single runnel of water down one wall, the droplets ever so slowly falling through the air, only to disappear in a splash against the ground.
Even as they began to rise, stirring in their beds, or what passed for beds on the cold stone floor of the tunnel, there was no activity. But as they began to ready themselves for the day ahead, Lifter held up a hand, pointing it down the tunnel, in the direction in which the shadows had flown.
The echoes of feet had come to his ears, but with a pounding rhythm that meant it was hard to discern just how many approached. The pace was also rapid, suggesting that they were being pushed at speed, whoever came this way. And underlying the tromp was the higher tones of metal clashing with metal. Weapons and armour were involved.