The troll-hall
"Recent, yes. Maybe they escaped, or maybe the little one is hiding close by—" (meaning outside the tower, in the surrounding gullies) "—and sneaking in and out. Maybe a parent or sibling is trapped in that hole?"
Aldaron nods at the rock covered prison. He turns a circle. "I haven't seen anything that would serve as a lever..."
Rather than leave anyone in such a horrible position, he's tempted to use his longsword, but the metal of a sword is flexible, not rigid, and he knows the blade will bend before ever the rock might shift.
"This is a dismal, horrible place. It grieves me to leave the prisoners even one moment longer, but this cellar has no other way in and out." He glances at the narrow shaft the child climbed. "None a troll could use. If we can guard the entrance overnight, perhaps the daylight will bring new insight."
He returns to the shaft. "We should follow them. This is no place for a child." He hesitates, then takes a breath to steel his resolve. "Nór, Haldan, protect my retreat. I will see where these tracks lead, and call if there is anything more to be done."
He sheathes his sword, cinching the straps tight to present the smallest profile. Juggling the torch in one hand, he eases himself into the shaft (ATHLETICS: Great Success).