"The Labyrinth of Apocalypse"

Prompt: 50 Feet of Glass (voted runner up, not in the blog yet)

50 feet lay between him and death, and he could see through all of it by lantern light. The walls of the underground maze were 20 feet thick and 50 high, larger than even the greatest city's. Not pure glass, but a mash of differing materials smelted into this clear, strong substance. The mix of clarities, colors, and patterns within would be beautiful, had Spearmint time or clear head to appreciate it.
The rabbit pulled at his shattered hind-leg, pinned where two walls met. His vision went white from pain, and he dug an herb from his bags, chewed it quickly. It kept shock at bay, but between that or monsters...
He was a fool for coming down here.
The rattles and thumps of bone and rotting flesh caught his ears. He didn't look, even as the maze walls shifted again, grating. His small, elephant-shaped earth spirit rumbled an avalanche of challenge as undead advanced, spreading black corruption with them.
"Leave me, save yourself..." Spearmint panted.
Digger bellowed a volcano's fury, smashing crystal tusks against the glass trapping Spearmint's leg. The walls glowed magically, parted several inches as the young elemental strained.
It was enough.
The rabbit screamed as Digger’s pebble trunk yanked him free, carried him away. Spearmint’s last sight was a grinning dragon’s skull , hollow eyes sapping his strength as they drank his lantern’s light.

* * *

Sunlight hurt as Spearmint opened his eyes. Digger rumbled comfort, pointing around at the tent.
Tent?
“Where... Where am I?”
“Oasis Islands,” said the camel in healer’s robes, moving to check on him.
Spearmint jolted up, regretted it as his head throbbed. “What?! But we were under Heartholt! How--?!”
“Rest,” the healer commanded, “You nearly died of sunstroke. How you got here from the Forest City, no idea. Strange magic.”
Spearmint tried to relax, but something was wrong. He looked down, saw a bandaged stump, “My leg...?”
“Couldn’t save it,” the camel said around a bowl of juice, handing it over, “Drink. Rest. You’ve been fitted for a prosthetic.”
Spearmint sighed, didn't argue. The medicine helped him sleep, but the nightmares still came.