Perhaps they do. Or, perhaps they're far too old for worry. We don't know- but we do know that they continue on regardless.

[He tucks his legs underneath himself then, taking a last swig of the bottle before extending an arm to offer it to her.

Oh, and he cannot help but laugh at the idea of the future- the sound bright. Amused.]

Our future isn't certain. That's for sure. We could very well die in traps tomorrow while poking about a decrepit, abandoned dungeon. Or, the luck we've had with annoying forces far beyond our reckoning will run out and we'll be disintegrated accordingly. Or, who knows? We'll succumb to ceremorphosis and float off.

[A pause. For that thought in particular is harrowing. Even for him.]

It might even be something as unlikely as not bleeding out in some trap somewhere, not dying horribly at the hands of something beyond us, and actually finding a cure for ourselves. But personally, I'm not afraid of the fact it's uncertain. I'd rather have uncertainty than guarantees. Especially when it comes to sprouting tentacles.

[He leans back on his arms then, and observes the sky.]

... For what it's worth, I'm cautiously optimistic. That's why I'm traveling with you, after all.