What is ‘home’ to you? Where do you go when the adventure is done, and who is there with you? Are you a surface-dweller, or have you adapted completely to the dungeons?

Trotting through the dungeon, trotting trotting trotting... it's endless here. I yawn, realizing I'm weary and beginning to scan the area. Not too many safe spots in this area, but... I scan behind me, remembering the path I took deeper down here. Perhaps I should turn back for now. Find a space with no clear presence of beasties.

I shake my mane in discomfort as I consider how far back that night be. But it's good for me to find somewhere to rest... so I will. It's hard to remember to rest when there is no change in the light here... but the creatures seem to know. Especially Goose, who begins to flap their wings and rise into the air, intending to settle on my back. As they do, I begin to turn my back on the adventure. Finally facing the way - home? Is this home I return to?

I ponder that as I begin to find my way back. I don't have a single home, really... only the comforts of my friends and Goose. There are places that feel more like home, and places that feel less - what makes those places feel like home? Hmm... Perhaps the lack of immediate danger? The lack of expectation to speak, the watching of each other's backs. it is certainly more of a comfort to have more eyes around. Goose helps when I'm alone. But, it seems, I'm not particularly aware of where they have settled for the night either. Where do they consider home?

I pick my way around the rubble of a partially collapsed wall, Goose honking at me as I take a rough step and stumble. I stop, nuzzling them in comfort. They nuzzle me back, and after a moment we continue on.

Home, then. Unity once spoke of the "surface" as if he were from somewhere above the dungeons, a thing fairly unfathomable to me. What else could there be? I only know the dungeon; i awoke here, I live here, I am a creature of the dungeon and a part of its organism. I am the dungeon.

So maybe home is the feeling of being in the dungeon?

Arche speaks of the dungeon as home, too, but less so. I wonder what his home is - he always seems to think very far away when he thinks about it. I might ask him again, to tell me of the things in his mind. They fascinate and confuse me - I can almost see them, though they are indescribable. It would be an honor to see them... but doing so means leaving the dungeon. And the dungeon is home.

My eyes alight on a soft patch of hay, not sure what exactly left it here, but interested more in sleep than caring, I wandered closer. this rea is well-travelled, at least by my friends and I, and any horrors lurking around might be afraid of simply the horrors we create ourselves. In any case... my weary legs carried me to the soft hay, and despite knowing i should sleep upright, I knew this was a place to rest laying down. Goose slid off my back as I began to settle in the hay, and i made them a space to snuggle against my side.

This - this feeling of soft hay in the dungeon - that's the feeling of home. Goose snuggled into my side, warm, and safe enough to drift to sleep... home.