Torvin was with me. That was super-helpful. But I figured even if, when push came to shove, he decided he was a pacifist, he could still be useful as a shield. I kind of surprised myself at how quickly I'd come to the decision that I didn't like him. I was also surprised at how easy it was for me to disregard the lack of reasons to dislike him.
Whatever fight Gavsot put up, it clearly traveled in a specific direction down the hall. I had no hunting or tracking experience, but it seemed logical to follow the blood, the pit guard entrails and the fragments of rock that seemed to have been hewn from the wall.
I moved forward, and, of course, Torvin hesitated. He was standing squeamishly beside a severed leg, trembling in fear. Now I was feeling more justified in disliking him. "Come on," I ordered, and he followed me obediently, whimpering.
We took a few turns down the winding hallway, passing scores of other cells. The amount of blood spilled on the floor had dropped drastically since the first few cells. I hoped this meant that Gavsot was still alive. I'd assumed most of the blood was from the pit guards anyway.
After almost ten minutes of searching, we rounded a bend and saw Gavsot slumped against the wall in a half-seated position.