“Watch it!” Maddox snapped, kicking a paw back.

 An exasperated huff, the sound of bodies colliding disguised by a sharp yip that had her ears pinning to the side of her head. Sylvie squeaked at the sudden weight of Maddox bumping into her, face squishing against Trench’s leg.

  “Will you both knock it off?” The hiss of his whisper managed to muffle through, the familiar whine of Cherry’s complaint following like clockwork.

  “Tell Maddox to hurry up! I keep stepping on his tail–”

  “I would be hurryin’ up if I could see any dang ol’ thing!” 

 Sylvie slithered against the wall, shivering at the bone-chilling prickles crawling through her pelt like some ghastly infestation.

 ‘Infestation…’

  “Sylvie if you’re going to take front, help me out a bit here, will ya? I’m not getting much from my perspective.” The merruff’s head was craned up– at least from the glimmer of scales Sylvie could make out. The moisture of the air clung to her pelt, her flames, they were barely enough to illuminate the ground beneath their paws.

 Cold, unfeeling bricks surrounded them on all sides, periodic rune-etched slabs appearing beneath their paws. They didn’t seem familiar… maybe Amber would have known. A familiar twinge of sorrow weighed on her heart, Sylvie shaking her head and focusing back on the task at hand.

  “Any news Sylvie?” Maddox piped up, fortunately sounding much farther away than he had moments before.

  “No… I don’t think so.” A chill against her whiskers.

 She paused, a pair of ‘oofs’ following as Trench quickly followed suit.

  “Can we please stop stopping–?” A familiar grumble.

  “Shh.” The even more exhausting and, familiar, deep rumble that could only come from a merruff’s chest. “What’cha sensing, Sylvs?”

 Her eyes widened, and while it didn’t clear her murky vision, the twitch of her whiskers told her all she needed to know. It was wind, it was… to their left. A sickening stench of sugary syrup trailed behind, enough it had the back of her throat tightening to close off the phantoms of taste.

  “Oh, ew.” Cherry’s voice piqued up from the back, sneezing against the assault. “What is that? It smells old. Sylvie, what’re you seein’ girlie?”

  “Not much… this way.” At least they had a goal, even if the further they pattered through the twist and turns of this catacomb, the stronger that smell became. 

 The runes became more frequent, every other tile. They grew more weathered, rounder edges with some even more incomprehensible than before. The stench, the reek wouldn’t cease, Sylvie’s eyes starting to water went a sharp spike of rot beelined to the back of her throat. Was nobody else getting this? She could hear their pawsteps, Trench grazing against her tail, the soft huffs of their breath. The runes were constant, her steps staggering. A whistle echoed, the longer its shrill pierce carried on, the more ragged, the more torn it became. ‘Was it a whistle or is that… a scream?’

  “Sylvs!” Teeth gently clamped on her tail, dragging the phoeline back and under the protective shell of Trench’s barreled chest. “Focus! We need you for somethin’, there ain’t no way me or you is finding our way through this room.”

 ‘Where did it all go?’ Nothing but damp stone washed through her nostrils, that agonized shriek now falling mute on her ears. Darting eyes revealed nothing, just the sheen of scales as she was led back to Maddox and Cherry like a lost kit. She pressed into pale fur, trying to drown the icy air with something familiar.

  “Gave us a fright! You feelin’ alright Sylvie?” A paw against her back, brushing down the prickled fur. 

  She almost found her shoulders going slack until the blunt end of a stake was shoved into her vision. Trench’s paw was attached to its end, dwarfing the tool. “Gimmie a light, Sylvs.”

  “Alright.” Her voice echoed twice, almost triple than it had before. ‘Just how big is this place?’ The idea flitted through her mind as she brought her paws up, unsheathing claws and striking them against each other. 

 Nothing. Another strike. Nothing. She tried again, a small withering purple spark. ‘This isn’t working.’ Puffing up her chest in the deepest breath she could, the phoeline smacked her paws together in a light that illuminated all of their scrunched faces. Maddox and Cherry fell back, covering their faces with shocked and disgruntled puffs. The flame raced around the rim of the torch, flames greedily licking the air. 

 He brought it up, shapes of imposing monuments towered over them, the remnants of scaffolding scattered at their feet. Beasts foreign to anything they’d seen, faces twisted in monstrous rage with parts of their gnarled, cracked bodies breaking away to reveal skeletal structures of gleaming metal. Some figures of nebulruffs could be seen on the saddleback, holding unlit torches, mouths open in shouts of silent orders. In the midst of the chaotic scene, a peryton sat, eyes closed and head bowed. An inscription was etched into her head, too far above and too tarnished to read what it could say.

  “Look!” Cherry chirped, pushing Trench towards the base of a statue. A tattered book sat on a pedestal, cover showing signs of being victim to ravenous moths. She flipped through the pages, a grin cracking along her face. “These are little spooky puppy tales! Oh, I love reading these to Maddie and her friends just before Howloween night– It gets them all puffed up and squirrely!” She giggled, fondness softening her gaze. “I do hope someone can fill in for me… just this once.”

  “I’m sure someone will.” Despite the sympathetic words, Maddox’s tone held nothing but irritated exasperation. He pressed on, though not before rolling his eyes at a puffy-cheeked, brow-furrowed Cherry. “Maybe if we stopped making hundreds of pit-stops on things that don’t matter we would be home by now, with Percival and Kip.” 

  “Yeah, sure, with how long it’d taken to get here I’m sure we could get home just as easy. There's no other way to go, this place is a dead end!” The light from the flame withered away, the book unreadable. “Who knows!” A huff. “Maybe these books are a key into finding our way out? Maybe it's a riddle or a puzzle, places like these usually have those.”

  “Well, instead of focusing on whatever's on the sidelines, I would focus on this guy here.” Maddox sat himself down, almost proud at the find.

 Sylvie followed wordlessly, expecting to see the most grand of the bunch, something that touched the ceiling and its face would be discernable. The base was well decorated, vases of roses covered in fresh dew, decorative vines that hugged the marble, candles and wreaths surrounding the pedestal. But alas, there was no book, but a frail, thin paper with tattered edges.

  “Careful!” Cherry squeaked, pushing the torch away. “You’re going to burn it and we’ll never get to see what it says.” She looked around, Sylvie pushing a candle closer to her. The nebulruff hummed thoughtfully, rewarding her with a firm pat on the head. “Thank ya Sylvie! Look, we can use this.” 

 Trench nodded, though his tense jaw was obvious enough he did have things to say. Never the matter, the wick was lit. The textured page was a stark contrast to the dark, murky ink that was scrawled along its face, wobbly as if done in a hurry. It read;

 An age old story, told by young and wise alike, 

A tale that had given the enchantress a fright.

A ghastly spectre, whose motives remain obscure.

Their cadaverous steed, who seemed much less immature.

They’d plague the impecunious parish, cackling with delight.

Filling the cruddy streets with terror and jitters,

engulfing lights and nothing the least bit bitter.

It’d made her head spin, her mood turned sour.

Hearing the rattled screams, her eyes a sharpened glower.

Her parish had become nothing but a horror-stricken town

And so she had done what any old fool would do

She cast an incantation, one that’d drag them down, down, down.

 As she read, Sylvie peered up again, it was… a horse reared back, eyes drooped. Even its warcry seemed uninterested, its body slack with a severe lack of vigour. The rider on the other hand was ecstatic. Their pumpkin head torn and wrinkled into a mischievous grin, hollow eyes wide with the faint glimmer of cobwebs adding a lively sheen. They held a lantern in one paw, the metal rusted beyond repair. It was almost life-like, the smallest slivers carved to form sleek fur, the dimples of the gourd illuminated by flames.

  “Sounds like a complete nutcase.” Maddox commented, sending a frazzle through the phoeline’s pelt at the sudden closeness. “I’m not getting any hints from that, it sounds just the same as the rest.”

  “Well–” Cherry furrowed her brows, lip pursed. “--No! There’s gotta be something here. Maybe we have to scare each other! Or find something not bitter. Or something bitter? This is only one page, maybe the rest of the books have the rest of the story.”

  “Seems less of a story–”

  “It’s worth a try.” Sylvie squeaked, flinching against the fox’s side eye. Cherry’s grateful grin saved the small spike in her chest, the nebulruff giggling and handing her a candlestick.

 “Yeah! There's nowhere to go unless we want to get lost or caved in again. I think it’d be easier if we all took our own light and looked through the stories. Here, take this.” 

 Her paw barely fixed around the cold steel until the room roared to light, heat washing over each and every one as torches once dead sparked with fire anew. The skeletal bones of the statues blazed, the surging flames filling out what was once lost to time. Flaming claws and hooves, billowing from the mouth of wretch beasts or lighting the lanterns and torches nebulruffs held.

 The silence was deafening, bodies pressing together waiting for something to happen, for some voice to call out, for a trap to set, for it all to die down and leave them in darkness once again. But it never came. Wide eyes flickered, fur puffed, teeth bared in preparation, but nothing would rear its ugly head. Sylvie gulped, opening her mouth to speak but it was Trench who would break the silence first.

 A short and sweet: “Looks like it was nothin’.”

 Though, Cherry’s squeak would have loved to argue. She had turned back around, staring up in abject fear. At least the quiet had come from a place of resolve, ready to react to anything that would have come their way. But this had Sylvie’s stomach roving, rolling, twisting and churning even worse than it had before. Her mouth went dry, the smell of sweets trailing up her nostrils, heart beating against the walls of her chest.

 The statue, steed and all, was gone.