'Galatea. Galatea.' There was that word again, that the spirits of Coursers and two-legged things shrieked into the dark of the caverns, only this time... this time the walls themselves cried the name. 'Galatea.' There it was, plain as day, carved into the very stone-- yet no one seemed to know the meaning. If the Harvester knew he had not breathed one word on the subject. Perhaps that meant he did. Mysterious as the merchant of souls had always been, it really was no surprise he kept such secrets to himself... and nothing any Courser Bunny knew could give the thing would pry his lips apart.