Uton and Rotun were teaching the new migrant Sorek on the ways of mining.
"It says here," said Rotun, unrolling a large piece of blue parchment, "that we need to dig a tunnel two urists wide and twenty deep, straight through there." He gestured at the south wall.
"I think this is a prime opportunity," said Uton as he produced a shiny new pick. "It's a simple enough task, and we'll be just over in the next room carving out some new farms."
Sorek took the pick from Uton carefully, as if it were made of glass. "Straight south, twenty urists," he intoned.
"And two wide, don't forget," reminded Rotun.
Sorek nodded, turned, and tapped the south wall with the pick so lightly that there was only the barest sound. It was so quiet, in fact, that it was overwhelmed by the sound of the legendary miners' laughter.
"Strike the earth!" called Uton. "Hit it like you mean it!"
Sorek wound up for the next hit, slamming the copper point into the solid rock so hard that he almost lifted himself off the ground.
"That's the spirit!" applauded Rotun. "Keep an eye out for damp or warm rock, and we'll be just 'round the bend." With that, the pair left Sorek to his task.
As Sorek approached the twentieth urist, he felt he was getting a hang of mining. It was calm, peaceful, diligent work, shaping the rock into homes for your fellows. It was almost relaxing, really.
Less relaxing when magma poured out of the hole you just made, though.
It's all very well and good to think "Don't panic," but the truth of the matter is that eminent disaster tends to contract the mind something fierce. That, perhaps, might explain why Sorek did not turn to run. Instead, all he could remember was Rotun's reminder that the passageway be two urists wide. As the magma approached, threatening to set his beard afire, he set his pick to widening the path.
And then he burned.
"You see?" said Rotun. "I told you there wouldn't be enough time to mine out that passageway *and* run for the stairs."
"Why else do you think I gave him a copper pick?" asked Uton.