When the dust settled, Amal got back to his feet, though he nearly fell over from the effort. If another goblin decided to poke its ugly hide in the mine at this point, he doubted he or Delphine could defend themselves. Luckily, there seemed to be no more greenskins, nor ogres. If there had been anymore, they had fled long ago to the deeper reaches of the mine. Amal attempted to stretch, but this time it hurt like oblivion, and so he decided to merely shamble, as it were. 

"Can you stand?" He asked Delphine. The Breton raised a hand in a thumbs up, but did not remove herself from her prone position, or even lift her head. At least until she gave herself a good moment to collect her senses. 

Within half an hour, both of them were up and about, albeit exceedingly bruised, tired, and borderline broken. Amal appraised the body of the ogre, shaking his head. They should have brought poison, he thought. Ogres were always weak to poison, even compared to other humanoids. It slowed them down more, distracted them beyond the norm. Perhaps it was their wide stomachs, he did not know. What he did know was that their teeth were valuable, and he reached for his knife to pick them out. As he reached for it, Delphine plucked it out of his sheathe. 

"Sorry," she said without much spirit in the platitude, her predilection for saying whatever got her out of immediate trouble giving Amal a devilish respect for her. It showed just how tired he was that he'd let his guard down to such a point. She had taken his idea and began popping off the ogre's teeth with what strength she still had. Amal decided to check the remainder of the room he hadn't the time to look at before, and to his delight found a flawed amethyst and an old dunmeri ring of ebony in the various piles of filth and refuse. Delphine tossed him his knife back, grinning at how nimbly he caught it, and he used it to cut the ear off the goblin chieftain as proof. 

The two crawled tiredly up the rubble incline, not too interested in delving deeper for the chieftain's den just in case they found other foes. 

Topside, Amal and Delphine scavenged a few choice items they placed in the closest chamber to the exit, where they built a small campfire for the night. Amal placed the ring and the amethyst on the floor, next to two potions of healing, an orcish short sword, twenty seven septims, some roasted mutton, a silver dagger, the shaman's staff, and a scroll of conjuration. Not to mention all of the ears and teeth in a knapsack. 

Amal and Delphine unanimously decided to drink the potions so there was no lasting damage, but that did not slake their hunger, thirst, or rejuvenate their stamina. Nor did it give them warmth, but the fire began to grow larger thanks to Delphine gathering a shrub called Lunaswood, telling Amal to stoke the fire. Amal gave a suggestive whistle at how large the fire grew from the simple addition. 

Her legs crossed, Delphine examined the flaw Amethyst in the light with apparent erudation. Amal only allowed himself a small glance at the curve of her legs, before he took on a ruminative look, adopting an amused smile. He rolled one of the septims over his fingers, the twisting coin casting an entrancing glint in the luminous flames. "So," he began without caution. "-what exactly was it that drove you to risk your life for gold with the likes of me?"