Old bones.

[Glenn]

Since w-we'll know it's, it's c-coming

Wasn't that Burnie's entire philosophy on these things? Isn't that why he served as he did, why he then later created the Inquisitory? He arrived to a Myrken incapable of preemptive action. Now though?

"We can stop it, Cherny. Of that, I have no doubt." He never did. He was incapable of doubt, even now, years after his time in the darkness, even now when he'd stepped out into the light in so many other ways. "It will come at a cost, however, and it's a cost we'll pay if we must, but I rather we didn't have to if possible. I would not have one citizen of Myrken die or suffer if I can prevent it."

As for the rest? It was a good question and it was one Glenn could ponder as between his man, the boy, and the dog, he was at risk of just getting in the way, despite intentions. It was almost enough to allow for a smile to crack through at the ridiculousness of having to just stand there and watch. "That, I do not know. There are very few records from that time; it was before I arrived. Kylerryth came to me, forced me to play a question game with him. He would have me believe that he is somehow bound, forced to only answer questions that way, like an elf in a story. If that is the case, then he also spoke true. Either he was lying to me, toying with me, in the limitations to his answers or they were true and he has been toying with all of us for a good long while. Thus, I find the 'waker claiming us to be deceived almost impossible, unless of course, it was Kylerryth doing the deceiving."

[Cherny]

The boy toils on with a will, keen to prove himself willing and capable, to show that he's a good worker, a Good Citizen as Catch would have it. After a few moments there's a rhythm to their efforts - Many-Fights scrabbles away the loose soil until he reaches packed dirt, and giving way to Cherny to break it up with his pick. Yet even so he has limits to his strength, and must step back to let the Governor assist with his shovel while he rests for a short while.

"S-sounds like, like he w-was teasing you, ser." He can imagine the tone, in his young way; a singsong refrain, I know something you don't know, accompanied by a self-satisfied smirk of power held over another. "H-he, he made th-them all. And c-could s-stop them, or t-tell you h-how." Little credence given to the idea of elf-rules, not for a creature who could do all the rest of it. Who'd enforce them, for a start? "He's j-just following th-those rules 'cos h-he wants to. T-to make it m-more, more fun. For h-him." Not for anyone else, obviously; certainly not for those who'll suffer and perish as a result of his games.

"D-doesn't m-matter what, what that s-said, anyway." He nods for the tree's broad trunk, meaning the gilded Holbrook-fragment. "'S j-just a, another t-toy." Like us. "And, and K-killereth's only h-helping b-because he's, he's b-bored of th-that toy and w-wants a, a n-new one."

[Glenn]

"That's not far from my thoughts," Glenn nodded. It was a rather simplistic way to look at it, yes, but then Cherny was a boy, albeit a clever one. "Which means we have to weigh the benefit of trying to turn it back around upon him and earning a more permanent freedom with the danger of not going along with him and suffering, either directly or indirectly because of it." The life of the Governor. For the most part, the former-mute would not have to deal with the making and crafting of these decisions even if he would have to live with the consequences of them.

They are working in unison now, and if there are truly bones to be found, they would be found soon. "If you learn one thing from this, Cherny, it ought to be 'never treat with gods if it can be at all avoided,' I think." A small smile there. It was all the Governor currently had to offer.

[Kylerryth]

Digging, digging, and digging. Disturbing cold, black earth and unforgiving stone, every sibilant stab revealing another inch, another layer of whatever lay beneath.

Soon they found the bones.

The skeleton of Cameron Holbrook, perhaps in a strangely disappointing yet decidedly satisfying way, was ... normal, if one did not count the absence of its hands; the sharp, deep gouges around the skull's eye-sockets; and the jagged, broken cervical vertebrae, rent by the fierce force of the noose. His bones lay in the earth in a haphazard position, arms and legs splayed, skull turned to face the side. Were the scene not morbid, they might feel inclined to believe it a position of rest.

As if he were sleeping.

It seemed Kylerryth had spoke true--at least on this point.

[Glenn]

"Well, then," Everything had been done clinically. The bones had been removed, quickly cleaned, more properly collated as they ought to be. No matter how Holbrook had been laid, the actual act of digging would cause disruption. It was morbid work this reassembling and notthe Governor's primary training. Certainly Many-Fights would be more of a distraction than a help in this side of thing, but things progressed quickly enough. The heavy lifting was over after all.

When it was done, Burnie would take some to examine the skeleton. Kylerryth's story did seem to check, at least when it came to how this person, Holbrook or otherwise, died. The why was up in the air as was so much else.

"Let's pack up and head home. Many-Fights," not Cherny and not Burnie, not for this, not even if it wasn't for Rhaena's distaste. The Governor could not dream. "I can trust you to look over the bones at night? It is a large responsibility, but will likely mean that once the shared dream begins, if I cannot prevent it, you will end up with Cherny within it instead of the boy being alone. And you'll possess the greatest weapon there. At that point, try to get the bones to someone of authority. Myself, Rhaena, Marshall Emory, Aleksei River. Those would be your first choices."

[Cherny]

The first dull gleam appears in the bottom of the pit, and it becomes difficult to keep the mill-boy out of it. After an initial excess of enthusiasm and under the Governor's guidance he sets to work, prodding and prying at the earth, picking away packed soil with sticks and fingertips and hoarse exclamations with each new discovery - h-here, a rib! look a, a f-foot! - until his hands and face are filthy and Holbrook's bones lie fully exposed. The remains don't seem to bother the boy unduly, and he does his best to assist without getting in the way.

At last their work is done, the hole scoured for errant fragments, and he helps pack up their find - their weapon - under Burnie's watchful eye, wrapped in careful layers of sackcloth. That the bones are entrusted to the hound's care earns a perplexed look, but he doesn't quite go so far as to protest. On the one hand he'd not wish anything like the fire dream upon his friend, never; but the idea of having Many-Fights alongside him in whatever dream may follow is encouraging. So there is conflict in his gaze as he looks back to the bundles of bones, neatly wrapped and tied with string. The Governor will explain his reasoning, surely.

"We're n-not f-far apart at, at n-night, ser." Because that's the other danger, isn't it? That the dream should start and Many-Fights and the bones he keeps mightn't find his way into it at all. "W-we c-can, can both l-look after th-them."

[catch]

A hindrance indeed. All this speaking, the cold, and everything else had made his broad skull hurt, and when such a thing happened, the mastiff found solace in the dog-mind, the part of him that clung to simplicity, the part that howled in horror at alien, troubling thought. Make a man a god, and would he thank you for it? As soon as the bones are revealed, Many-Fights became a right, proper nuisance, trying to worry the bones, shoving his broad skull under arms and hands to see what they were all about, to inspect every bit of what Burnie was attempting to do with his cold, wet nose.

WHAT IS A DREAM? He had not thought to ask, but he was grumpy, now, and he asked out of ill-tempered mischief. He knew very well what a dream was. Even then, he ruins it a moment later, walking stiff-legged to sit at Cherny's side. MANY-FIGHTS AND CHERNY-BEAST ARE THE BEST-BEST GUARDS, he grumbles. DOES MANY-FIGHTS HAVE TO PULL THE BONES ALL THE WAY. Distaste, there. He was cold. And tired. And muddy, and hungry, and the temper of his mind-voice was snappish and short.

[Glenn]

"We'll split them." This to Many-Fights. "We'll all carry the burden together. That's what we do, Cherny. That's what we always do. That's how we survive." It was how Myrken endured. It was not, however, how Myrken thrived. That was Burnie's hand and in that, everyone did not always share the load equally. No, in that they did what was necessary. "And Many-Fights can guard them in the end, with you Cherny. You two are the ones who saw this," a nod to the tree. "You want to help everyone. In this matter, I trust the two of you even more than myself."

He was heading back to the horses now. "I'll write two letters upon my return, and more than that, you'll both be paid a fair's wage for today's work and for the safekeeping of the bones. You deserve nothing less."

[Cherny]

Sharing is a decent compromise, and one the boy accepts with a nod. "Everyone d-d-does their, their p-part, ser. W-we'll do w-what, what's needed." A fine sentiment, cooperating in order to survive and - later - perhaps even to prosper. A great responsibility, set upon his shoulders by the Governor himself - who'd not entrust such an important matter to the mill-boy if he didn't think him capable.

There's a moment or two for him to attend to Many-Fights while the Governor and his similarly surly associate finish loading equipment onto the pack animals, thin fingers scratching at the hound's thick neck, and he stoops to inspect his friend's paws after so much hard work, offering quiet words of sympathy for how cold and muddy they are, reaching next to adjust the scarf more snugly about the hound's throat. Glowing praise for a job well done, for such bravery in the face of the gilded-thing, and diligence in finally excavating those bones; promises as well, of a waiting hearth, maybe a warm bath and stew, piping hot stew flowing like steaming rivers once they're done with this mission. Not long now, and he searches his pockets for a strip of dried bacon to keep the hound going until then; base bribery, but perhaps enough to ease his temper for the time being.

Letters, though - that has the boy perking up, remembering those promises. "For the m-militia, s-ser? And, and the Adjunct?" The matter of a day's wage isn't to be sniffed at, but it's clear enough where the mill-boy's real interest lies. "We're r-ready to, to g-go." One last encouraging scrub of fingers for Many-Fights' brow, and then Cherny's hastening towards the pony once again, doing his best not to be too impatient as he waits for Neb to help him up. The sooner done with this expedition, the sooner the Governor can sit down and pen those letters, and open up yet further adventures for the boy.

[catch]

Many-Fights allows those scratches, those platitudes, and though he grumbles, it is a token effort. He knows he is being petty. He grasps the cause of his sour mood quite well. Cold, and hungry, and tired, body-tired and mind-tired, from the running of his feet and the running of Glenn Burnie's tongue. The bacon is snatched, quite rudely, the dog truly ravenous, but he balms it a moment later by swiveling his head, planting a wet tongue-kiss on the boy's chin. It is a sorry without having to speak. As Cherny and Burnie speak more, and Cherny returns to his mount, the dog snuffles about the base of the tree, the disturbed, ancient earth. He smells for the Gold, for the thing that Threatens, the owner of the Bones. Only when he is satisfied would he rejoin them, and their horses.

[Glenn]

"Letters." It's all he says at first, a strange brevity from the Governor. There was much to be done, though. There were bones to be packed and loaded. There was the journey back to town. Cherny and Many-Fights would be watched here. It hadn't been Burnie's intention to put them through something quite so traumatic. Aggie beside, he never had a very acute sense of animals. You couldn't talk to them sa one did humans and that was generally his only means of engaging the world, through words. Many-Fights, therefore, had been an ideal companion for this specific quest. Cherny, as it was, had been along for the ride. Nothing was ever easy in Myrken Wood. He knew it well. He rather imagined that the boy did too.

So they packed up and they bundled and they rode back towards town. The Governor had promised a hot meal, a meal the likes of which Cherny and many-fights likely never had before. He would deliver for those who sacrificed for Myrken were always both remembered and rewarded in kind.

Letters would come later.