"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
There are some strange things in Beqanna, on this I have decided. there are those adorned with wings, sprouting from their backs like angel's have spun little tales into their mechanical makeup. There are those with ever-changing eyes, ever-changing appearances. first glance and they are a horse, four legged just like me. Then they change in a blink of an eye into a beast, a animal with ferocious teeth and dripping jowls. This unnerves me ever so slight. It is the unknown, something I cannot grasp solidly into my hands (well, hooves.) So when the whole romantic setting of a heart beating beneath my feet came around, I can quite believe it. Such whimsical tales you only hear about by old sages keeping quiet the little ones whilst their strapping fathers and dear mothers leave them behind.
My ash tipped ears turn, catching the steady rhythm. louder, faster, as though the chamber itself is unnerved by our presence, by us trying to uncover the buried secrets that lie dormant, earthed beneath the sentinels above. Golden limbs sashay, picking the route gentle behind Killdare -- he is after all the one of tooth and hoof, a sinewy beast with war torn scars and tales knotted in his bones. I watch him steadily then. Still, the beatings beneath a steady, hypnosis. I wonder things, I wonder many, many things. But I follow him on our intrepid journey, through the darker reaches of the pines, where the slither of moonlight fails to lighten a path.
'Atrox. That was the name.' my voice is barely a whisper, as if anything louder might deter whatever magic, whatever threads are being bound to us right now. As if my voice could frighten the little butterflies of darkness that settle and intertwine itself with my body. I jog a little to catch up, noticing Killdare had gotten deeper into the darker woodland. Azure orbs follow the darkness, trying to make out the things, the scars on the bark that weave many a tale, the ash still clinging upon the air, the earth. 'A man of greatness, apparently. The Chamber took his heart and it sits beneath us, beating alongside his living body...' I recall Erebor's words. Rapt I was, listening to tales of magic and a love that was not truly a love. I have cruel little visions passing my mind. Bloody affairs of the Chamber literally binding him to the grounds, piercing his chest and stealing his heart with the very knife like boughs that protected the innards of the Chamber. A delicious shiver ran down every notch of my spine and came to my tail with a gentle flick, gliding over my hocks.
'I wonder...' my tone is wistful, imaginary almost. Eyes drawing lines through the darkness, managing to come up beside the bay steed, a towering frame above him, but not as intimidating. I cast him a long, studious gaze, watching for any inclining of knowing, any brief show of emotion. I was feeling as though the Chamber was knitting us together, bound between the dirt, the trees. The pine fragrance becoming one of blood and dust, of worn muscle and tired bone. 'I wonder is it is only after hearts..' or souls, or minds, or every part of you that made you, you. I wonder now if the chamber was far more sinister than I had first thought. The magic slowly dispersing into the night to reveal a colder, darker mission. Either way, it brightened my eyes with a curiosity, a sense of purpose as we explored deeper, darker into the depths. I wonder if we could find the source, the rigid beating that grew quicker, heavier with every step into the bowls of the Chamber.
