Still beneath La Greche

Something crunched under foot and Rosco immediately dropped into a fighting stance; his knees bending, his centre of gravity lowering, his feet swivelling apart to improve his balance.  His eyes felt tight as they still tried to focus on the nothing in front of him, his brain insisting that there couldn't really be no light.
"Ha. Ha."  The whisperer's voice sounded hoarser now, and his (her?) speech was slowing.  "A fighter, are you?"
"How can you see me?" said Rosco, his head turning, listening intently, trying to work out which direction the voice was coming from.
"I can feel.  Your.  Heat."  whispered the voice.  "It is.  Much.  Strong. Er.... Than so many–"
"Enough!"  Rosco could feel sweat forming on his forehead, and a droplet of it rolled down the back of his neck, surprisingly cold.  His inability to see was frustrating and scaring him, and the laboured struggle of the whispered to get any words out set his nerve ajangle.  "I'm hot, I get it."
The whisperer laughed again, a dry, rustly and surprisingly dirty sound.  "Egotist," he (she?) said.
Something futzed and a weak light spilled out from Rosco's helmet lamp, revealing the wall near his face once more, the rope coiled on the floor, and the gritty black sand on the floor.  He stayed tensed in his stance, suspecting that the whisperer wouldn't move until the light gave out once more.
"These bones," he called out.  "I can't see any."
"You're not near.  Them." came the reply.
Rosco looked around, moving his head carefully and smoothly, hoping not to cause the light to turn off again, and was rewarded with the persistence of the beam.  The cavern extended off to his left and in front of him, but behind him and to his right was a natural corner of rock.  Wondering how safe he really was he picked up one end of the rope and edged his way to the left, determined to be able to find his way back if his light went out again.
Eight steps were enough for the first bone to come into view; a long bone, heavy looking, with a ball-joint at one end and tatters of flesh still clinging to it.  It was abhuman, but more disturbing were the evident teeth marks all along it.
"Is that enough. For. You?" gasped the whisperer.
"It's a bone," said Rosco, reaching out slowly, still tense, still ready to spring.  He picked the bone up with his free hand.  It was heavy, but not as heavy as the broadsword he'd trained with, and the length was similar.  "Perhaps it's even a weapon."
"Do you think.  That.  It's.  Enou–"
"Enough of a weapon?  Against someone who can't get three words out without running out of breath?"
Again, that papery laughter, like a moth were fluttering giant wings from where it perched on a rose-coloured wall.
"Why would an. Attacker.  Tell. You–"
"Oh crap."  Roscomboltin carefully swivelled around, but the small circle of light still showed no signs of anyone else, or even any more bones.  Somewhere – he still couldn't locate it – the whisperer chuckled to itself, and then, back where the other end of the rope was, the rope suddenly went slack as though the rest of it had been picked up.

The caverns below La Greche

Roscomboltin, who would love to be Rosco to his friends if he could make any, felt the rope slip. He fell in the utter darkness, panicking. The rope caught on something, jerked, and he bounced on the end of it. Something metallic shrieked, and he fell a couple more feet, jerking to a halt again. Then it was over, and he was swinging like a pendulum, his hands feeling for his hard-hat, trying to get its lamp working again.
He took the hat off and ran his hands over its ridged contours until he found the lamp housing. Then he pounded on it with the ball of his thumb. At first nothing, and then suddenly some broken connection somewhere was remade and a weak yellow light spilled out from the bulb. Relieved he shook it, and the light strengthened.
He put the hat back on and looked around. The nearby wall was a deep pink, reminding him of roses that he'd not seen since coming to the La Greche, but otherwise the cavern just opened out and there was only blackness wherever he looked. When he looked down, he was startled to discover he was hanging mere inches above the cavern floor. He swallowed hard, wondering how close he'd come to hitting it, possibly breaking bones or... or worse.
He unclipped and dropped the eight inches to the floor. It crunched, and when he rubbed his feet he realised that it was a gritty black sand on rock. He looked up, admiring the rose-hued wall again, and his smile slowly faded as he wondered where black sand could come from if the walls were this colour. Rosco put a hand out for the rope, and as he pulled on it it came free from wherever it had caught and fell, coiling noisily on the floor. He dodged aside; rope that long was heavy and he didn't want to be caught under it.
"Well, well," said a voice in the darkness. "A... visitor again. It has been... such... a long time." There was something suggestive in the voice, and Rosco thought it might be hunger.
"Who's there?" He turned slowly through a full circle, peering in the hopes of seeing the speaker, but never seeing more than empty darkness.
"Think of me as... one of the... fallen. Not unlike... you, ha, ha."
Rosco noted the strange pauses, wondering if the speaker was short of breath.
"Well met!" he said, not meaning it at all. "So, is there another way out then?"
"Not... ha, ha, not... that I've found."
"Looks like I'm climbing then," said Rosco, trying to sound cheerful. He didn't feel cheerful though; the hole he'd come down through was probably in the middle of the ceiling, not near the walls, and climbing to that, in near darkness, would be suicidal. But then, staying down here with this strange speaker also seemed suicidal, and at least climbing he could die on his own terms.
"Ha ha, you should look... around first. There are... ha, ha things you should... see."
"Things?"
"...Bones."
"I'm probably a better climber than them," said Rosco, but his confidence was ebbing fast.
"Did I... say they'd tried to cli...mb?"
The black sand. Rosco realised that there was more here that he needed to know about before he continued.
"OK," he said, trying to sound friendly now. "So, who are you? Can I see you?"
The light on his hat went out, plunging him into a darkness that was starting to feel oppressive.
"Ha, ha, ha," laughed the voice. "It would seem not!"