There it is. The thing he's been waiting for ever since he came down here, surface born and without a brand, Einar's son enough that folk would know it and his whole face hardens as if Wemot slapped him (better if she had, a slap is a slap and forgotten when the sting fade, words you remember for the small hours to pick at when sleep never comes, gnawing at the roots) and Yngvi has to cough to recover himself. Embarrassed, maybe. Ashamed. Angry, certainly, but it's not for now, not for Wemot or two humans, so he hands over a couple of mines to Lakshmi.

"Throw them, make sure you get a good arc and they-- 'scuse me and they, um, they won't go off right at us. And listen for deepstalkers, they might be curled in a ball like the stone about them, small lizard things with mouth like a worm's but full of teeth, they jump and bite. In packs." He'd make the noise but who knows, it might summon them and they'll know if they hear them so better not. "They might spit something nasty so...avoid them. Or we kill those fast too if they slime and the rocks don't."

(They're deepstalkers, the chances of them dying to dangers in mines are minimal, he thinks.)

Still, he's unwilling to cause more damage if only to have this deshyr hold it over his head and he holds up a hand to Lakshmi, considering. "We use these," the mines, "for the slime we find on the way. Use another exit and leave this one? Or the oil and flame out my lantern where the rocks are too loose to risk them going off?"

Artificers being what they are, there's generally a lot of things blowing up when the mines come out but he's always got plenty to go in the lantern for all situations.