Beware the past, it will repeat without

Devotion; death thou meets. From ash to blood – 

To sand and bone. Heed the warning of this 

Tome.  Frisk and Gambol with delight, thine glee

A beacon through the night. It will join the 

Revelry, then thou’s fate belongs to thee. 

“Who is Gambol?” 

Tamsin tilted their great head from one side to the other, as Tonnerre leveled an incredulous look, “You have said what?” 

“Well I know who Frisk is,” the words were careful and slow, as he sorted through the ancient text that had nearly crumbled as they pulled it’s great pages apart, “But I don’t know that other guy.”

The outsider to their party did not spare the bay another glance, deciding her limited patience was best spent elsewhere, “This is a story,” she said, wary of the dangerous gleam that had shone from Frisk’s eyes the minute that Smudge had begun to read, “It is not real.” 

“Sure it isn’t,” Frisk  said, with a tone that bordered on a challenge, her eyes still just as bright “Just like corridor’s don’t breathe, and apparitions don’t demand thunderdome fights to get by ‘em.” 

Smudge glanced between them, dread forming in the pit of his stomach as an uneasy silence fell over their party. In this battle of wills, there was only ever going to be one outcome, no matter what argument Tonnerre might try and make. 

How they had only made it this far through luck, how there were too many unknowns for whatever It might be, how she only known them a few short days. 

It was Frisk who broke the silence first, rendering the rest unnecessary.

“Only one way to find out whose right.” 

~

Their fire had grown cold and dim, throwing only a faint glow with the soft tendril of smoke that wavered in the stagnant air of the dungeon’s deeper floors. 

It was a strange sort of revelry, their hoofbeats a bit too quick and their movements a bit too strained. 

Smudge had balked at his own participation, for the first time voicing dissent, but Tamsin had smiled and affirmed their belief in him and what could the appaloosa do against that? Faithful wound around him, adding his yips to the chorus as vex’s wings whispered paper-like against the rhythm. 

The roan was dogged in her pounding, a motion nearly hypnotizing to Tonnerre who could not understand the logic behind her actions, but was helpless to deny the fervor it sparked within her. If they were to do this, it would be done correctly. “When we are finis,” the weld said, her accent thicker with the exertion, “You will tell me why we have done this.” 

Frisk flashed teeth, white and bright as bone, “Sure.” 

Tamsin and Smudge were not so demanding, happy to allow Frisk to push against the seemingly solid make-up of the dungeon to see where it might yield to her will. If it was only to sate her own curiosity, or to find some missing piece of herself, it was neither their business nor their concern. 

They were a party, and they would follow her to the depths of hell if it came to it.

Woosh 

Whatever dim light had flickered against the cavern walls was snuffed out suddenly.

“Attendez.” 

It was an unnecessary command. 

Frisk stilled,, head held high.

Tamsin widened his stance, prepared for the inevitable.

Smudge took a step backward, his faint resolve taken with the dying light, and met the harsh reality of stone.

The apparition appeared, rows of teeth illuminated by a sickening green, gnashing in silent laughter. 

It was nothing they had ever seen before. Flat and bulbous and twisted. It cracked and creaked, its bloated shape as twisted and macabre as the crows that flocked on the moor. Something wrong, and impossible, and yet undeniable. 

As much a part of the dungeon as any Courser. 

Frisk grinned back, smug and stubborn as Tonnerre raised her blade toward the terrible Thing.

“Told you.”