There’s really nothing much to explore in here. End to end, it’s a short walk to the short, rickety fence wrapping this peaceful, little haven. Beyond the fences, an eerie, deadly silence pervades a thick, soupy mist, blaringly discouraging departure from the safety of the small garden. Inside, a cool, light breeze whistles amongst the leaves and thistle, gently assuring protection should one simply stay away from all the scary danger outside.

  I don’t get it. The memory said that he’d be here, tending to the garden. I’ve been over this entire place multiple times now. There’s nowhere else to search. Did I make a mistake? Am I chasing that mad bullish thing’s crazy hallucinations? Or maybe he’s remembering something from long, long ago. Maybe it’s changed?

  “Your cloak is very beautiful,” a tiny voice politely whines out from nowhere in particular.

  “Uoh!” I shout in surprise before quickly clapping a hand up over my mouth.

  Spinning around in circles to find the voice’s origin, there’s nothing. The garden rests exactly as it did before. No one has entered, nothing has changed.

  “Your outfit is lovely too.”

  Again, the high pitch, trembling voice saturates the calm, crisp air all at once. Checking in the direction of the mulch piles, they all seem fine. I can’t remember which one is Ha’koff, but now’s not the time to figure it out. Especially if doing so may accidentally endanger him.

  “Did you make it yourself?”

  Again, the voice timidly peeks out from wherever its body is hiding. Clearly my eyes won’t find this sneaking thing, even amplified. Therefore, I calmly take a seat, close my eyes, and wait for the next signal.

  “Such clear passion and dedication.”

  No, no, this isn’t working. The tethers alone aren’t enough to find it. The range must be extended farther, exactly as I did with the little finger fringes from the cloak. I need to take possession of much more.

  “All the tattered pieces are barely holding themselves together, but still.”

  That’s a little better. At least a rough direction. However, it’s still all far too ambiguous, reverberating the entire space every time he speaks rather than leading directly back to his location. I need to push out even farther. To declare a claim over everything. This whole space must become mine.

  “You must put in so much time and effort keeping it patched up.”

  There! There he is! I’ve found you! Standing up, I slowly walk in the direction that I’ve mentally marked off in my minds. It’s over here somewhere, I know it.

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  “It must mean a lot to you!”

  There’s a very little hole in the ground, obscured in a remote corner of the garden. The sound’s almost certainly emanating from here. Is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Can these monsters really feel fear?

  “Yas,” I calmly and assuringly speak down into the hole after squatting down to get a bit closer. “Wev gud. Non fier. Hap wev. Gud gud.”

  A tiny, mousy head pokes out, inordinately excited by my brokenly simple spoken reply.

  “Oh, thank you! Thank you! I haven’t heard the voice of another aspect for so, so long,” the little critter squeals, releasing a large volume of dangerously pent up energy.

  “Wat? Agob fier?” I ask, cringing at the raspy, constricted sound of my own voice.

  As awful as it is to suffer the broken words, I can’t use my message panel quite yet. He may flee if anything changes too fast. Just like with the memory, I have to be slow and cautious. Deliberate. Pretend that he’s just another good and reliable partner, like Ha’koff. Give him a sense of safety, security, and protection. Only then do I try to extract the information that I want.

  “Danger? Not here,” the mousy face wiggles and jiggles, rapidly squeezing out the words. “It’s definitely safe here! Don’t worry. Your wonderful mud won’t even dry out or deteriorate. You could stay here as a guest forever and be fine!”

  Squinting at one of my hands, I closely inspect it to verify his claims. Although, I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see. Quite a bit of time needs to pass before any deterioration becomes evident, and I certainly don’t want to wait here that long.

  “Wat hev? Hap hev?”

  “Oh, that’s a long story. Someone of your stature would never waste your precious time on someone as lowly as me. Your invaluable attention must be better spent on other, far more important ventures.”

  “Non. Spak spak,” I doggedly reassure him, hoping to either gather new information or at least adjust him to my presence.

  “Oh, really? You’re such a good listener,” the mousy beast starts, before suddenly pausing to awkwardly quirk its face several times. “An– anyways. It’s nothing complicated. I used to travel with the heart, you see. Observe and support our grand works as they’re enacted. It really, really is such a brave and noble effort!”

  “Hm. Gud. Gud gud,” I nod, enthusiastically urging him to continue.

  I didn’t get much about the heart from the memory. This might actually be a good opportunity.

  “However, it was all the blood. So much blood. I simply couldn’t take it anymore. At first a little bit was fine. Then eventually, it was too much. Far too much! There’s really only so many ways that you can encourage such a volume of blood before running out of all your compliments and congratulations.”

  “Wat–” I begin to ask before realizing that I’m finally hitting a hard wall of communication.

  Taking out my message panel, I draw blood onto my claws and scribble out my intent.

  The mousy beast catches a deeply sullen disposition at the sudden, silent reply. Shrinking to an almost imperceptibly smaller size, it retreats ever so slightly deeper into its hole.

  “No,” he quietly squeaks, vigorously shaking his head. “I mean, yes! Many of their kind were there with us too. They tend to permeate into almost everything.”

  “Oh? You haven’t visited the stomach yet, have you?”

  “Non,” I reply out loud, lightly shaking my head.

  The tiny critter perks up at the sound of my voice, happily advancing slightly.

  “Oh good! That’s good. Consider not going? It’s an awful place. Those dreadful deals are always tightly bound in blood, and in blood they’ll be collected. One way or another. There’s no escape. Like an infinite line of pigs slowly struggling towards their slaughter, really. Ha! Ironic.”