Like a red carpet for some heathen God, the Moor of Sleep stretched out before Castalla, a vast, desolate expanse where the earth seemed to breathe out sorrow with every howl of wind. The long-forgotten battlefield was a patchwork of ash and dirt, still as though even time dared not touch this place. Bones, half-buried and aged, scattered like the grim tapestry of a violent past that could not be erased.

Even Terrence was quiet as he and Castalla prowled the barren landscape, picking their way carefully through the remains. His usual swagger and confidence was almost humbled by the sombreness of the moor and Castalla found herself wishing he'd tell the story about the geysers again, if only to fill the silence that was drowning them.

Dark shapes dotted the horizon, as still as death, heads turned in their direction and eyes fixed upon the two Coursers. There was something unsettling about them, something that gave Castalla pause, sending claws of unease skittering down her spine.

"You see them too, right?" she murmured, head barely turning to the ebon steed accompanying her. He had seen enough dungeons, enough dangers to know when something was off.

"They're too still." Terrence's voice was low, wary. He took a step closer, his muscles tense beneath the glossy sheen of obsidian. "You think they're...?"

"Not crows," she finished for him. "Not entirely."

Movements slow and deliberate, they drew nearer to the eerie tableau, but the crows did not scatter, nor did they shift a single inky feather. Their eyes, pools of unending darkness, held Terrence and Castalla in a grip that sent chills through them.

Curiosity and caution tangled like vines in Castalla's chest as she finally got close enough to see the avian creatures properly. Their feathers, darker than the deepest night, seemed to swallow the light, their bodies insubstantial, as though formed of shadow itself.

"Back away, slowly," Terrence growled, voice steady. The command crawled uncomfortably over Castalla, but she didn't need to be told twice. Silently, like a creeping lion, she backed away step by step, mirrored by Terrence. The hollow eyes tracked them, the not-crow's heads turning in unison to follow their retreat.

Once they had put a safe distance between themselves and the things on the bones, Castalla breathed deeply, blonde locks cascading over her face as she dipped her head in relief.

"Well that was fun." She forced a little bit of brightness into her tone, as though it might shed light onto the shadows that still seemed to seep from the moor. "I guess the moor isn't particularly fond of intruders."

Terrence grinned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "When does any part of this dungeon like intruders?"

It wasn't long before Terrence returned to his usual, chatty self and Castalla was glad for it, even if part of her mind still wandered with the silent, statue-still crows.