The blow came out of nowhere. 

Seep woke with his head full of painful red spots frizzing like wool, every muscle in his body aching as if he slept in full armor again and his muzzle pressed into the dirt. He was shaking from the tips of his ears down to his hooves. He rocked back upright, lost his balance, and scrambled until his armor clanged against a cold, stone wall. Even as he choked on the taste of stomach acid, he laughed and laughed. 

It had been a pleasant dream. Of course it had not been real.

“Are you alright?” A voice asked, and his sword was up and pointing at her before he could see the mare proper. Then he blinked, because the Courser staring right at him was an odd blue and purple, flickering darker indigo in the low light of his lantern. Her eyes were wide and unsuspecting. Naïve in a way that screamed of a particular kind of innocence. A dungeon dweller, of course, designated so by her lack of any surface equipment and the odd stance that screamed, "I know this place and have nothing to fear." As it stood, those in the dungeon often forgot that Coursers could be cruel. Only the desperate went down into these depths, after all.

“Did you see what happened?” He asked, demanded really. A shake of the head and a dry laugh was all he got in return. “Answer me!”

“I didn’t see shit oh stern, ser surfacer,” she said with a humorless laugh, “but I saw you get knocked out by something big and weird. Haven’t seen it after I scared it off. Haven’t seen you before either, so I dragged you to safety.” 

“Expecting a thanks?” Seep asked, shoving down his stewing anger. She did not know and should not suspect anything from him. “You’re a brave one, to ask that of a desperate stallion.” 

“No.” She shrugged. “Just food. Maybe company or a story, I hope.” 

“You hope.” He laughed, almost stomping the ground with a hoof, but he knew there was a smile half-hidden under his foreleg when he bent over to grab his bag. Brave stranger indeed, spirits beware this mare. “I should not be condoning this. Allowing this. I have friends to find.” 

“Of course,” she agreed lightly. “But you will, because you are tired and hurt.”

As if the pain had been waiting for it, the moment he straightened the pain struck. He breathed in, then out, this time without gagging from the lingering nausea. Again. In and out. He focused on something else for a moment, looking around the room as his instincts demanded, wishing to know his escape. Stones and a rusting camp. Old dust stirred by the mare. And a word. A strange language on the wall. Before Seep knew it, he had taken a step, then another, and then he stood before the wall and the word loomed before him like a warning. A last remnant of a sentient, forever carved unless the wall broke or the cavern caved in. He had the sense to draw back his hoof before he broke it. This felt loaded in a way the pots did not. Like the old tongue, familiar but unknown, he read it over and over again, committing it to memory. It felt…important.

“Are you staying?” She asked. Her name he did not care to ask, but he shook his head. “No. I don’t want to give you a story, either.”

“That’s alright,” she smiled. “You already gave me one.”

That did it. Eyes wide and nostrils flaring, Seep pushed the effects of his concussion right to the back of his mind. He needed a nap and a healer, but he reached for his bags instead. He ignored the stern look the mare gave him as he turned tail and galloped out of the crevice at full speed, gasping for air around his curses. He skidded to a stop after a bit, nearly overbalancing. His heart was beating hard in his chest from a mix of exertion, fear, and the thrilling victory of having outrun the imagined pursuer. 

The word and the mare’s bone-chilling laughter still chased him down the tunnel anyway.