"Pretty sure we'll be impaled before we get crushed, the spikes are packed tight up there." Offhand and easy, like this in'st potentially life or death. If this had been his first room, he'd be flippant, roll his eyes at the overstated drama of it all.

But cracked ribs and a bloody back are more than enough for him to remember to keep in time and, as the girl says, lead.

At least it isn't a horribly quick song, he thinks, as the arrows start to scroll up and he settles his weight on the balls of his feet, drawing himself up as best he can around the dull agony of his ribs and back.