“And you’re sure? No one?”
“I promise. No one will ever find it.”
Calligraphy sighed with relief, and scraped his plate into the compost pit. He cringed at the moist, earthy stench of the contents before closing the lid.
“That is, of course,” Ivory began with a smirk, “Unless I tell her.”
“Oh yeah? You’d really tell on me like that?”
“Well, that depends. Maybe you could buy my silence?” Ivory continued, snaking his hooves around Calligraphy’s midriff.
“What… what’s the price then... wise guy?” Calligraphy did his best to keep their snarky routine going, but it was distracting. Ivory’s aftershave was distracting. The warmth of his larger frame was distracting. His hooves, such an impossible melding of strong and soft, were distracting.
It all felt so safe, and it was distracting.
“Maybe… if you worked a little bit less?”
And there it was.
“Ivory,” Calligraphy began, chewing his bottom lip.
“No. No it’s fine, Calli. I know,” Ivory responded, managing an unconvincing attempt at a casual laugh, “I just… I wish I saw you more, you know?”
“I promise it won’t be forever, sweetheart. Once I make Professor, it’ll all be better. I’ll have more help, more students.”
“That’s what you said about becoming a Senior Lecturer,” Ivory muttered, “And all that happened is that you got busier.”
The two of them remained that way for a moment. Ivory’s parents' garden was totally silent. Snowflakes fell around them. He’d always thought that Ivory looked even more beautiful in snow. The way it speckled his coat. Small white points on a canvas of obsidian black. Like the night sky. Calligraphy went to pull away, but Ivory held him tighter, closer.
For some reason, this made Calligraphy start to cry.
“Hey Ivory,” he began, voice shaky, “What’s started your mum off with this cooking phase anyway?”
“Her friend picked it up,” Ivory began with a chuckle, “And you know, whatever is good for the rest of the knitting club is good enough for her.”
The two of them laughed, and the snow crunched with each small shift of their hooves. They’d gotten married in summer, but Calligraphy had always thought a winter wedding would have suited them better.
There was something about the snow he felt at home in. Something about the way it made the whole world take notice. Ponies ran inside for rain, they laid about in the heat. But only in snow did they all come out and stare and laugh and play. Something about the thought attracted him.
He loved how it stole the sound from the night, too. In snow, your ears were useless. It was all about what you could see. The fact he never spoke up and asked that they could wed each other when it was snowing ate at him from time to time. It felt like a wasted opportunity, and Calligraphy didn’t feel like he had many to spare.
“Well, as long as she never finds out how bad the cake actually was. I don’t think I’ve ever had to hide cake in a compost bin,” Calligraphy giggled as they parted.
“Don’t worry Calli, it’s like I said,” Ivory replied, his smile tinged with a hint of sadness that both tried to ignore.
“No one will ever find it.”
XXX
Calligraphy fought, he really did fight his absolute hardest. But it was useless, he had to accept that he’d been reading the same sentence for the past twenty minutes. He leant back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his muzzle.
A flair of his horn retrieved his mug, and his heart dropped even further when he saw it was totally empty. He groaned, and put it back down on the desk. It was raining outside, but there was no way to tell this by sight. It was far too late for that. He had to rely on the sounds of the rain’s soft pitter patter on the glass.
He thought of Ivory, back home in their flat. What would he be doing now? Probably reading, or writing. He loved the stories Ivory wrote so much. Maybe wasn’t in at all, maybe he’d gone out to a bar. By himself. After eating dinner.
By himself.
Calligraphy ground his teeth and pushed his chair out from under the desk. He seized his mug and walked out into the hallway. At this time, the building was deserted. Maybe a couple of other night owls were hidden away somewhere, but Calligraphy had seen neither head nor hair of them. The only lights that were the ones he’d switched on earlier. On the way to the water fountain, fifteen or so metres down the hall.
Calligraphy reached it, and began filling his mug. The water trickled in, agonisingly slow. He’d been telling the university for years to get better water fountains. But no, no one listened to him, it was like he wasn’t noticed. But he’d make them notice one day. Just as soon as he got that professor job.
He thought of the last time he’d brought this up to Ivory. He thought of how Ivory tried to swallow his clear sadness, how his eyes had misted over when he’d said ‘I notice you, no matter what title you have’.
Calligraphy screwed his eyes up. His mug wasn’t even halfway full yet.
He thought of how, when he got home, Ivory would already be asleep.
Calligraphy screamed and punched the wall.
The echo carried down the hallway, and only then did Calligraphy’s sense return. Professors didn’t punch walls, they didn’t have tantrums in the middle of their department. He stared into the unlit gloom for a spell, hoping silently no office doors would pop open and reveal furious academics demanding to know what all the noise was.
But someone u p t h e r e must have been on his side, because it seemed that he was still alone. The hallway remained silent. Sound was the only way to be sure, actually. Much like the rain outside, there was no way to verify anything with his eyes, the hallway was too dark. There could have been anything stood in the unlit hall before him. But of course, he couldn’t hear anything, so there wasn’t.
Of course not.
Even though there could have been anyone hiding in that gloom, that jet black passage that seemed to stretch on forever. Like a blocked tunnel.
There could have been a pony, could have been two, maybe even as many as three, all watching him, all crawling towards him. As long as he just kept listening though, as long as he didn’t hear anything then no one could have been there. So he just kept staring and listening and waiting and-
“God damn it!” Calligraphy yelled as he heard water start to hit the floor. He rushed to turn off the water fountain, and cringed as liquid dripped off the sides of his overflowing mug. He scowled at the contraption, before turning to look down the hallway again.
For a brief moment, he wondered whether he should just go home.
But the moment passed, and, with a sigh, Calligraphy went back to his office.
X X X
“Okay, okay, just keep your legs tucked in!” Ivory said, sticking his tongue out in concentration.
“Honey, do we really need to do-” Calligraphy was cut off as his husband lifted him off the ground. Ivory had been saying for years now, ‘as soon as we move out of this flat and get a house of our own, I’m gonna carry you across the threshold’. Calligraphy had always been telling him it was a silly idea, and there was no need to do it.
Calligraphy had always been praying Ivory would do it anyway.
He held on for dear life, but only out of some need to strengthen the thrill. It was fun to pretend, but there was no actual need to hold on. Ivory would never drop him. Ivory was so calm, so strong. Calligraphy could feel his heartbeat, so steady. It made his own heartbeat race even further. It made him feel light, lithe and delicate. Something protected and cherished.
It made him feel like he was noticed.
When they were through, Ivory kissed him and Calligraphy kissed him back with an urgency and desperation that should have been out of place. Calligraphy knew it was out of place but he wanted this to last forever. It was like their last kiss, because soon he’d have to go out again and leave Ivory in an empty home. All because ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ had called him a couple of days back, insisting they meet up.
So eventually, with significant reluctance, they parted.
“So… homeowners, eh?”
“I know, I still can’t believe it,” Ivory replied, “I’m gonna miss our old flat, though.”
“No you’re not,” Calligraphy smirked.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m not.”
They both burst out laughing. Ivory looked so carefree. His long, white mane danced in time with his chuckling. Calligraphy wanted to bury his head in that mane. It always smelled like cinnamon.
“Okay, I know you need to head out in a little while to meet ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ so I can handle most of the boxes. Would you mind doing the cellar though?”
“Sounds good,”
“Thanks Calli,” Ivory replied. Calligraphy loved the nickname, no one else called him it. It was something that was only theirs.
He picked up a box and made his way down the hall. Towards the back of the house, he could see the kitchen. Their new kitchen. There was a pang in his stomach as he looked at the breakfast bar. He could see it now. Saturday morning, neither of them bothering to get up until nearly noon. He could see himself in one of Ivory’s large shirts, the one that always smelled like him and had now been entirely repurposed as Calligraphy’s pyjamas.
He could see himself getting two mugs of tea ready on that breakfast bar. Stewing the pot until it was just perfect. Then he would bring them into their new living room where Ivory would be waiting. And the two of them would sit on the settee and plan their day and Calligraphy… no, Calli would fit into Ivory like corresponding shapes because they were made to be together.
And there wouldn’t be any work to do.
And Ivory wouldn’t be alone all the time.
All that was achievable, Calligraphy told himself, it was all going to happen as soon as he got the promotion.
So he bit his lip, and walked away from the kitchen. Even as some far away part of himself screamed that he didn’t need to wait for all that.
The couple who had sold the house were… well ‘unpleasant’ didn’t quite cover it. So when he tried to flick on the lights, only to realise they had apparently taken the lightbulbs before they’d left, Calligraphy was angry but unsurprised. He summoned a low hornlight and tiptoed down the stairs.
When he reached the bottom, he carefully set the box down, turned, and immediately stubbed his hoof on something. His hornlight was snuffed as he cursed furiously. The pain was hot and throbbing and he bit the inside of his mouth. A tear beaded in the corner of his scrunched eyelids.
And then he opened his eyes.
And he was in the pitch black.
And Calligraphy was hyperventilating, because even his eyes were useless down here, he knew he was in a tunnel and the walls were damp cold rock and he was alone and nothing smelt like cinnamon and nothing was warm and Ivory was alone at home again.
“Calli!” Ivory yelled, illuminating the room with a torch. He rushed down the stairs and immediately swaddled his shivering husband in huge, dark wings.
“Calli, what’s wrong?!”
“Nothing I just… I just stubbed my hoof…” Calligraphy gasped through great, heaving breaths.
“Sweetheart, please, you’re working yourself into the ground. Please, just stay here tonight,” Ivory begged, a wobble in his normally strong voice threatened to smash Calligraphy’s heart entirely. What Calligraphy knew did smash his heart entirely.
Because he knew he couldn’t.
“Ivory… I’ll be fine, it’s just… you know I’ve gotta go meet Bristle Mane. He wouldn’t talk like this if he hadn’t found something big. I can’t just pass it up. I need to go meet him.”
“Calli, listen to yourself! Bristle hasn’t ‘found something big’. He’s just gonna want to talk to you about your expedition.”
And, just like that, Ivory’s wings felt cold.
“My what?” Calligraphy breathed, feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Ivory yelled, tears pooling in his eyes, “That expedition you went on a few months ago. The last time Bristle ‘found something big’. The two of you were gone for months exploring that mountain near Baltimare, and then you just turn up back on our doorstep one night and you won’t even tell me what happened! I can’t do it anymore Calli!”
Calligraphy gawked, horrified. His jaw bobbed a few times as he tried to think of something to say, even though he knew there was nothing that could be done so he pulled back and shoved Ivory away from him and
X⠀⠀X⠀⠀⠀X
“What did Bristle say?” Calligraphy muttered as he came to. He was in the bed. Their new bed. Ivory must have gotten it all ready by himself, then he must have gotten Calligraphy into his favourite pyjamas. He could tell because he could smell cinnamon.
“I didn’t get in contact,” Ivory replied teresely, “He’s stolen you away for more than enough time. He can give it a miss for one night. Drink this.”
Calligraphy took the tea and sipped. Ivory must have put some cold water in there to make sure it didn’t burn his mouth. Ivory was the sweetest stallion alive and Calligraphy rued every single moment he wasted not holding him and being held by him.
Much as he might have wanted to argue his case, he could tell there was no getting past Ivory tonight. Did it make him a bad friend to Bristle, to secretly be happy about that? Or, a bad husband to not admit it?
“So… are we ever gonna talk about what happened on that trip you took?” Ivory eventually said. Calligraphy carried on drinking his tea, and screwed his eyes shut to stop himself from crying.
“Okay, okay then,” Ivory relented, he never was very forceful was he? “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Let’s just stay like this tonight, Calli.”
“Hey Ivory, you know how much I love your writing, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” he replied, and reached over so that they could hold hooves, “If anything, I wish you’d tell me a little less. My head hardly fits through the door after listening to one of your ‘reviews’,”
“It’s just…” It’s just that I don’t want our relationship to be defined by my work anymore. I don’t want it to be the thing that keeps me from you and leaves you alone and stops me from holding you because and I know it does but I don’t know how to make it stop anymore Ivory and I’m scared because there was never one single bit of old writing I loved as much as the things you wrote. “I don’t think you realise how good you are. I don’t want you to go through life and not realise how amazing a pony, and writer, and husband you are.”
“What’s brought this on?” Ivory asked, the wobbly chuckle in his voice sounded to Calligraphy like something laid on to mask fear, “You’re pretty amazing yourself, too. I mean, how many ponies can say they study writing for a living? That they have their dream job-”
“No! I… I just… I don’t wanna talk about me,” Calligraphy insisted through the threat of sobs building in his chest, “I wanna talk about you and everything about you. I wanna… I wanna know… everything I’ve ever read from you has been in first person, why is that?”
“Calli... why are you asking me this now?”
“Please, please just tell me Ivory. I can’t have never asked... I can’t not know. I need you to tell me.”
“Okay, okay. Hey! Hey Calli it’s alright, okay?” Ivory urged, wrapping his hooves around Calligraphy’s shaking body, “It’s alright, I’ll tell you. I write in first person because… well, it’s hard to explain. I feel like otherwise, it’s too passive. I want my characters to seem like they have a choice, like they’re really thrashing against the circumstances I put them in because it’s what they want. Not because of what I wrote.
“I write in first person because… it makes it seem like the protagonist has a choice. With third person it’s just… it makes it seem like they were doomed from the start, you know?”
Calligraphy nodded, and he continued to sob in Ivory’s hooves. His tea was long done, and he was glad because it obscured the smell of cinnamon and he didn’t want any warm but the warm of Ivory’s hooves because it the only place he’d ever felt safe.
And all the while, as they lay there, Calligraphy felt Ivory’s words about writing burn in his ears.
He couldn’t help but agree.
X⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀X
Calligraphy hummed as he poured their tea out. It was a Saturday, there was no work to be done. Actually, maybe ‘no work that could be done’ was the more apt way to phrase it?
Calligraphy absolutely had things we wanted to attend to at the office. But he felt like, after last night, he at least owed Ivory one day. He was worth so many more. But before they could get there Calligraphy needed his promotion. That was what Calligraphy had been working towards these last few months, to reach a place where Ivory got all the time he deserved.
It was all for him.
When it was done, Calligraphy put their tea on a tray, coupled with a plate of Ivory’s favourite biscuits, and took them through. Ivory was there, smiling on the settee. His wing was extended, welcoming Calligraphy into the soft, warm feathers and he took the invitation gratefully.
He rested his head on a dark chest, flush with downy fur that was more comfortable than the most expensive of duvets because it was safe and his and it smelled like cinnamon. Calligraphy smelled Ivory’s coat, and sighed, before leaning up to gently kiss his neck.
When he pulled back to look into Ivory’s eyes, he found his husband smiling down at him.
“Hey Calli?” Ivory whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Pneuma is, to the best of our knowledge, an entity which was worshipped by the civilisation which created the temple. Current areas of research are the significance of their belief in Pneuma in terms of culture, how worship of Pneuma was conducted and what led to the religion’s near-total vanishing from modern day Equestria.
“Some on the expedition believe some of the desired information will be gleaned from conducting a ritual we have translated instructions to. I, personally, have no doubt that the usefulness of this exercise will be limited. There is little to learn from engaging in a dead civilization’s superstitions, but maybe getting into their mindset might help future work. I will record our findings shortly.”
Calligraphy shoved him back and Ivory gawked, horrified.
“What did you just say?” he hissed.
“Calli, what’s gotten into you?!” Ivory demanded.
“Tell me what you said Ivory!”
“I asked what you wanted to do today?” Ivory replied, looking half outraged and half terrified.
“No! No you said… how could you know?”
“Calli, we can’t go on like this. You need to tell me what happened on this expedition. Something clearly changed you down there. You need to tell me, today! No more dodging the question.”
“I will not I will not,” Calligraphy yelled.
“What do you mean ‘it’s none of my business’?! Of course it’s my business. We’re married!”
“I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not.”
“And why would I do that?” Ivory snapped, “You really think I’m gonna stop loving you over this? I’m asking you because I love you.”
“I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not,” Calligraphy snapped, everything he’d been holding back the last few months finally breaking out of him as Ivory listened, horrified.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me something like that happened? But, I don’t understand... you’re safe, right?! You’re here now!”
“I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not I will not,” Calligraphy wailed into his hooves.
“But if all of that… you say… How did you get out of there?” Ivory babbled, speechless in shock. This is precisely why Calligraphy hadn’t wanted to tell him what had gone on down there. Now he knew, now it was out in the open.
“Calli, look at me,” Ivory began after a moment’s nauseating silence, “I take it back, I don’t care, okay? You don’t need to tell me how you got out of there if you don’t want to. I don’t care how you did it, I’m just glad you’re here with me now. Whatever you had to do to get out was the right choice, because it brought you back home. That’s all I care about, all I’ve ever cared about. Whatever you needed to do, it was the right thing. I would want you to do WHATEVER IT TAKES TO COME HOME TO ME-”
A knock at the door cut Ivory off instantly. In fact, it cut everything off. There wasn’t any birdsong from outside, none of Manehattan’s constant noise. Everything was still. Calligraphy felt sick. He didn’t want to talk about any of this. He didn’t want to answer the door. He wanted to go back to bed with his husband. He wanted Ivory to stroke his hair and to read him one of his stories. He wanted to go home
Calligraphy got up, steadied himself, and went to answer the door.
Bristle Mane was stood on the porch, and he was dead.
Milky eyes that shouldn’t have been able to see stared directly at Calligraphy. He favoured a foreleg, as one was clearly broken in several places. His coat was thinning, there were many areas where he was totally bald now. He was thin, emaciated. Calligraphy could see his bones showing through taught, mottled skin.
“Calligraphy,” his former friend said in a groaning, gnarled voice devoid of any of his former charm, “I need you to know that-”
Calligraphy slammed the door in Bristle Mane’s face, and pressed his back to it. He took breath in heaving gasps, his heart thundered and sweat matted his coat. Bristle Mane wasn’t like that, he was fine they’d both gotten out they’d tried to get out you are going to get out.
He turned to look at Ivory, and found his husband had been staring over at him the whole time, smiling like a lover.
-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀x
“Can I ask you a question?” Ivory spoke out in the darkness.
“Okay.” Calligraphy replied, his voice devoid of any emotion.
“Say you had to put something somewhere. Somewhere where it could never, ever be found. How would you do it? You could put it in some enormous terrifying building, maybe? Put signs up everywhere telling ponies to stay away, that it’s dangerous? But then, that’s not going to work, is it? Someone too brave, or too stupid, is gonna go into that building one day. And the whole thing is ruined.”
Calligraphy didn’t respond, so Ivory continued.
“So, how about this instead? How about you don’t put any signs up. How about you act like there’s nothing to find at all? Just bury it somewhere, somewhere in the middle of nowhere and then leave it. I used to think that would be the way to do it, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Ivory, please stop.”
“I think that’s going to keep it hidden for longer. Definitely longer than the other way. But then one day, if someone comes across it, there’s not going to be any warnings, are there? They’re not going to know what they’ve found. So it made me think-”
“Please, please stop.”
“It made me think, maybe the problem is trying to hide these things in the first place? Maybe things aren’t meant to be hidden away forever. Maybe it's arrogant of us to try to keep things locked away. Have you ever thought about it like that, Calligraphy?”
Calligraphy rolled out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. Then he hugged his legs to his chest.
“You think you’re a lot smarter than you really are, do you know that?” he spat.
“I don’t think your concept of intelligence is really something that applies to me.”
“I knew, you realise that? I didn’t want to admit it, but I always knew. I can still feel the tunnel walls on my back. Can still feel the cold too, if I really think about it.
“But more than that, it was Ivory. Your version of him is cheap, he didn’t just roll over and let me do whatever I wanted. He didn’t just oblige me all the time. He told me when I wasn’t being a good husband to him… Oh, gods, was I ever once a good husband to him?”
The voice didn’t respond.
“So, those things they wrote about you in those books. Was any of it true? Is Pneuma even your name?”
“There aren’t enough sounds in your world to tell you my name. Why aren’t you dead?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know full well what I mean. Why aren’t you dead?My magic can only sustain you if you want to be sustained. You could have let go at any time, but you’ve stayed here with me. Tell me why.”
“Why are you here with me?” Calligraphy snapped in retort, “Why haven’t you just taken my body already?”
“Why aren’t you dead?” the voice insisted, ignoring his question.
“You know why. Even something like you must know why,” Calligraphy relented, tears finally streaming down his face, “Why I was here with you, I could at least hold him again. Some approximation of him, at the very least.”
“You still could.”
“A question for a question. Why are you prolonging this, do you enjoy seeing ponies suffer? You’re going to take my body from me, so why not just do it?”
“I do not steal bodies. Everything you’ve said and thought and wrote points to this idea that I’m going to wrench your flesh from you, kicking and screaming. No, I ask to join you in your mind, not take it. I asked your companion. He agreed.”
“So why do you need me so badly if ‘my companion’ agreed?”
“Because he died in the tunnel after you blocked it.”
Calligraphy let that burn for a moment, the idea of Bristle Mane being crushed to death in a cold, pitch black void of Calligraphy’s making. Then he shook his head.
“Bristle Mane wouldn’t have wanted you released on the world. Neither do I. If you need my permission, then you don’t have it. We can both die down here.”
“If you refuse, I will simply wait for the next travelers. One will accept, and I have all the time in the world to wait. I meant what I said, it is arrogance to assume you can lock something away forever. One day, I will be freed. The choice you have is whether it's worth your lover waiting at home alone. For the rest of his life.”
Calligraphy poked the bed. It felt so astoundingly real. It felt exactly like the one he’d always dreamed of, in the house he’d always dreamed of getting with Ivory. He thought of him, sat alone in bed. He wondered whether he was thinking of Calligraphy now. Maybe, if they were both thinking of each other at the same time, maybe he could somehow send his thoughts and his love and his heart through the connection they made.
Maybe Calligraphy could remind Ivory how much he loved him.
“What do you even want with me? What would you do if you were in my mind?”
“I can tell you my intentions are benign. That all I want, like anyone, is to be free from a place like this. I could tell you that, with me, your work could revolutionise your whole field. I could tell you that you would be able to hold your lover again, and could make right all the wrongs you have done to him. The question, though, is would you believe me?”
“Conventional wisdom would say you’re a liar.” Calligraphy replied.
“Only a fool would defer to conventional wisdom for a matter like this.”
The two sat in silence for a moment. Calligraphy gently ran his hoof up and down the duvet. He really wished he could talk to Ivory right now. He wished he’d never come on this expedition.
Calligraphy wished he’d done everything, every single part of his life different. Save, of course, for whatever bout of astronomical cosmic luck brought someone as good as Ivory to someone as worthless as him.
But then, wasn’t this also a bout of astronomical cosmic...
“Have you made your decision?”
“Just… Just shut up,” he snapped, “Just be quiet… I need to think.”
-
On the coast, near Baltimare, there was an enormous mountain. Under this mountain, there was a network of tunnels. The tunnels carried no markers, no warnings, nothing to make ponies who found them turn back around.
One of the tunnels went very far down, further than all the others, but it ended very unceremoniously in a cave-in. By the wall of rocks lay a body. Thin, emaciated, fur dropping off to reveal taught, mottled skin underneath.
If you followed these tunnels all the way down to find this body, you could probably hazard a guess as to what happened. It looked like this was the corpse of a lost traveller. Some poor soul who got lost down here while searching for fame or fortune or power or some combination of all three.
If you were able to wake up this body and talk to him, Calligraphy would have probably said it was fortune he was seeking. The fortune that was an easy life with a pony he loved.
And if there was light, maybe, after a little while, depending on how Calligraphy wanted his story to end, this body’s eyes could be seen to gently begin to flutter open and fill with a knowledge that couldn’t possibly come from this world? Maybe the body would even get up? Maybe it would smile, maybe it would cry, maybe it would scream?
Or, maybe, it wouldn’t move at all. And Calligraphy would die for real?
But that was the trouble in places like this, wasn’t it? There wasn’t any light. Sight was useless. You’d have to do everything based on sound. You’d have to stay very, very still and listen.
So stay a little while.
And maybe you can find out.