The path away from the tower felt longer and more arduous than from where they originally came. The mid-day sun in the cloudless, stark blue sky provided enough warmth for Alabaster to feel sweat begin to dampen the fur under his woolen cloak and metal armor, yet the sharp cold of the wind buffeted against him and seemed to cut right through him. 

The Buried Kingdom is full of wonders and dangers and treasures, yet it seems we have found the one route completely devoid of all that, he thought bitterly. The sun was now directly above them, no longer a source of the beautiful serenity of the morning, but now an accomplice to the exacerbation of his restlessness. How far would this path go on for? Or more importantly, Did Cerridwen know where we were going? He flicked his tail impatiently, feeling a fly land on his hindquarters, and resisted the urge to kick his leg in its general direction. To Cerridwen his discontent must have been palpable, for she slowed her pace to come side by side with him, looking him over quizzically with her bright brown eyes. 

“Need a rest, Alabaster?” She asked, her tone subtly patronizing him, as if he was an unruly foal acting out. He met her gaze, belatedly realizing how immature he must look to her, responded with a soft No, I will be fine. He then stepped onto a particularly sharp rock along the path, and resisted every urge he had to outwardly curse the pain. Staining his voice to try and keep his tone even and calm, he asked,

“Where, or what is it exactly that we are heading to Cerridwen?” She kept her face forward to the path ahead, but couldn't help the smile crossing her face.

“From my countless time in the dungeons, I’ve come to find that roads less trodden sometimes can produce the most riveting experiences.” She said, practically beaming at him now. Alabaster internally fought with himself over whether or not he should consider what she said condescending. After a few moments of quiet deliberation, he came to the conclusion that her words were intended to be only slightly condescending, probably as much condescension as he deserved. He couldn’t find it in himself to be snarky towards her, as once they had thoroughly searched the tower, the lion’s share of the treasure they had found Cerridwen had generously let him keep. She was nothing if not generous, and intelligent, and charming- 

“Look over there!” Her voice put an end to his thoughts as they broke over the crest of a ridge, and now stood over a sweeping open field, blooming with a multitude of moor flowers. A small stream cut a shallow path through the lowland, the light of the sun glinting brilliantly off its rippling surface. Farther away still, Alabaster could see strange shapes, seeming to be objects arranged in some deliberate pattern by someone or something long past. Cerridwen followed his eyeline and noticed the shapes too, and after giving him a playful nudge, she hurried to a canter, hurtling down the grassy slope. Alabaster followed behind, the cool breeze seeming to help sweep him down the hill, the dulled thud of his hooves on the grassy ground and the sound of his own breathing in his ears helped to  calm his nerves. He slowed down to take in the smell of the delicate lilac flowers blooming across the valley - Heather, he thought, we have heather flowers on the cliffs by the Enclave. He trotted up next to Cerridwen on the bank of the stream, where she was lapping at the fresh, cool water. 

Cerridwen was right- of course she was right, perhaps all that walking was worth it to come across such a beautiful place. Alabaster believed himself always willing to admit when he was wrong, just not always out loud. 

The two coursers began to forge a new path along the streambank, heading in the direction of its source-  and in the general direction of strange objects they had spied gleaming in the sun. Sure enough, as they walked on, soon enough they spotted the odd shapes scattered around the lowlands. They were smaller than first expected, but their brilliant white colour stood stark against the grey-green and yellow of the sharp moor grass. 

Alabaster was not one to let fear guide his actions. He considered himself rational, and brave, as a knight needs to be brave. But he knew the odd shapes in front of them were a foreboding omen.  

Jutting out from the yellowing grass were the curves of a sharp, sun-bleached ribcage. Alabaster felt his stomach twist. Bones. Courser Bones, most likely. Cerridwen took a step forward, then another- before a sickening crunch came from under her hoof. She backed away hurriedly, as if whatever it was had burned her, before regaining her composure, and took a closer look. 

“A shoulder, at least- I think so.” Alabaster swore he could hear her voice waver ever so slightly. The bones seemed so old and brittle that the portion of the (assumed) scapula she had stepped on had crumbled to a fine off-white powder, laying like a fine layer of dust over the grass. As they looked around they slowly began to find the rest of the creature’s bones- uncountable amount of vertebrae, long bones (no doubt from its legs), and finally in the center of the disarray- a skull, rooted into the ground by what once would have been its neck, its fleshless face and empty black eye sockets staring directly up towards the sky, glittering white teeth in the disturbing facsimile of a smile. 

Alabaster had never wanted to run away as fast and far as he did in that moment, courage be damned. The bones, he noted to himself, seemed to be strewn around in a circular pattern, with the skull at the center, and all other bones arranged to radiate out from there. It couldn’t possibly be random. Something arranged this courser’s bones, but why? Do I even want to know? Should I suggest to Cerridwen we leave before we find out why? His heart leapt into his throat when a dark shape briefly blotted out the sun overhead, and in a flurry of wingbeats a large black bird perched upon a single rib bone. It cocked its head at them, studying them with its glittering black eyes, like two onyx set deep inside the dark shroud of its ink black feathers. It was large, larger than any crow he had seen, and seemed to look at them with a level of understanding-of knowing, that he had never expected a bird to have. Most of all, it seemed to be hungry. 

Slowly, the bird lowered its head, and began to peck at the pale white bone it was perched upon. Finding no flesh on it, the bird hopped onto the ground- and in the strange, ungainly way a creature not fit to walk could move, approached the skull in the center of the bone ring. The not-crow then tried to peck at the skull’s eye socket, trying a few times before being dissatisfied with the empty space. Alabaster grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut, but upon opening them again he noticed three new birds had settled on the bones jutting out from the ground, staring at them intently- with hungry, empty eyes. 

Nope. That was the only real word that came to his mind when he turned to run. Cerridwen seemed to have the same idea, as the chestnut courser had already begun to set a breakneck galloping pace ahead of him. Loud screeches and caws, some far too similar to laughter, echoed behind them as they hurried back the way they came. 

After what seemed like an appropriate distance away from the horrific sight, Cerridwen began to slow. Alabaster came to a stop next to her, and remembering he was supposed to be gallant, asked if she was unharmed.  

“Fine, I am fine. You?” She responded, her eyes scanning the sky for any sign of the birds. He too looked around, “Yes, me too. Just what do you think that was?” 

“I don’t know. And I don’t know if I care to find out.” She responded. She snorted in frustration, noting how low the sun now sat to the western horizon. 

“Come, let us find a way around- that- we should not linger in the moor once the sun is gone.” She said, and Alabaster would not argue against that. He was sure creatures worse than a murder of unnaturally large and ravenous crows would roam the moor after dark.