Froider couldn’t tell apart the horse. But whatever she was, she seemed different.

"They’re not moving like crows," Freidor said, his voice low, controlled, almost as if we was trying to understand the horse in front of him. "But they’re gone anyway. I wonder what it was we saw." His eyes flicked back and forth between the place the distant black shapes once were, always calculating, always scanning for danger.

Fetch didn’t respond immediately. She blinked once, twice, then tilted her head. "We see what we see. And what we can’t see well.. we leave it for another day." She trotted a few paces forward, her movements light. Freidor, somewhat used to her playful manner by now, watched with a mixture of patience and irritation. Maybe he was still grudging over her having caught him fumbling as he did.

“You’re younger than I judged you for at a distance.” Fetch remarked, watching as his demeanor and face turned sour.

“Does it matter?” He grunted turning his face to the side.

"It matters.” She stopped trotting completely as to appease the younger horse. It seemed to frustrate him for some reason. “What are you doing so far down here?” She had seen many surface dwellers before, but they were far older.

“I could ask you the same.” Freidor wanted to look as uninterested as possible. For now he didn’t know this horse’s intentions and he wasn’t risking it either. The fairy situation had been enough a shenanigan for him. So, he hurriedly picked up the cloths he let fall and his pack.

Fetch didn’t answer immediately. She moved closer to the nearest bone, tilting her head as if listening to something only she could hear. "Echoes," she murmured finally. "Of what was… or what might have been. They aren’t here for the bones. They’re here for the memory."

Freidor huffed, his frustration growing. "You always speak in riddles, Fetch. Echoes? Memories?" He flicked his tail in agitation, though his gaze stayed sharp on the creatures ahead.

Fetch smiled faintly, her gaze never leaving the strange figures. "Sometimes the dungeon remembers more than we do. More than you." Her tone was teasing, but there was something unsettling beneath it, something that sent a cold shiver down Freidor’s spine.

He pushed the feeling aside. He wasn’t one to dwell on things he couldn’t control. "We should keep moving," he said, his voice firm, though quieter now. "Whatever they are, they’re not our concern."

"Not yet," Fetch agreed softly, still watching the crows—no, not crows—perched on the bones.

And then another siren ringed. Both horses reacted to it in a painful manner. Shuddering and attempting to tuck their muzzles in their chest.

“I have had yet to experience a second sign to finish off for the day.” Fetch huffed. “Name’s Fetch, you can come with me if you’d like to rest. I’d love to hear more about you.”

Froider nodded in conformity. He wasn’t up to staying and finding out what the second siren was for anyway.

Fetch, halfway away from the bones, glanced back at him, her expression unreadable but her eyes glittering with some hidden knowledge. And he wanted to share in that knowledge "Crows don’t linger where there’s nothing left." She looked back at what were the places of the figures perched on the remains, her voice taking on a sing-song lilt. "So these aren’t crows. Not really." She nodded.

Freidor’s ears pinned back slightly, but he said nothing. He trusted her—more than most would—but he was always wary. "And what are you?"

Fetch perked her ears surprised. He politely denoted, “I don’t mean it offensively-“ but she interrupted him. “I’m just surprised, ‘what are you?’ very little actually ask me that question.” ‘You’re a sharp one’ Fetch thought to herself. Maybe worth keeping around a little more, maybe he’ll have more to share about the surface. Another piece of the puzzle to understanding the dungeon. Maybe the bigger piece to understanding her home comes from understanding the outside first.

Freidor didn’t respond this time, his focus on the path ahead. He whistled at his partner Babylon to return to his back. But as they left the field of bones behind, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger about the dungeon had shifted. Freidor glanced at Fetch, she had a way of sensing things he couldn't, possibly. Maybe. He wasn’t really sure, it was just a feeling after all. They called it a sixth sense in the books. Reading the dungeon’s signs like an old language was something he hadn’t quite mastered yet, it would be a very useful skill. But could he handle what this new horse, ‘Fetch’ was?