Terry leaves, but thankfully he leaves the torch. Could he know I’m here still, sitting next to a pile of bones, the dust of old lilacs, and his paint palette? Maybe. But he can’t possibly be aware I would be scared to be in here without the light of the torch he left.

I’d follow him out. I mean, his hand was in mine, sort of, as we walked together to the stairwell but there, I stayed. Watching the light shut out with the slam of the door.

Curiosity has me by her finger. Has me wrapped tight. The junk in this room which fills tables and tables, presumably flow-over storage from the Storage Room above. The empty hallway which twists and turns. The groans of beasts inside cells. Bones piled behind bars.

I found a Nothorodon which has disappeared somewhere into the sky, leaving Terry’s idea of strapping the dragon charm around it’s neck moot. But what says I can’t find something else? Something bigger?

So the chambered hallway, I walk. The cell Terry pressed his hand too, I imagine it was as cold against his palm as it is for mine.

“Hello?”

A rattle. A slam against stone. Not for me. Jog some cells away and stare at the jumbled heap of bones, an enormous golden tusk on top.

“Help,” a tiny voice, far down the hallway shouts.

Sure, I’ll help. I’ll help myself to go back into the cell where Terry paints and sit. Hands sweat. Wet rock reeks my nostrils. Cold floor against my hips.

I’ll help.

To my feet, down the way, eyes forward. I don’t dare to look into each cell like I dare to stare down the face of the mountain. I don’t wish to be in here, not at all. Not like how I wish to get off this mountain. But now I’m here. Searching for a little voice. The hallway bends and turns, my little torch losing fuel. Rush, and walk faster. Until I meet the bars of a tiny cell, only up to my knees.

“Help,” the voice inside says.

Down on my stomach, torch against the bars. The cell is giant inside. The animal inside, giant. A horse. With wings. Tucked tight into its sides clops around until it’s belly is on the ground, nose to face with me.

“Free me,” it says.

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“Okay.” No charm hangs from its neck. No mouth moves. Nor reason to believe this creature talks but I hear it, I swear I do. “But how did you get here?”

Its hoofs click the ground. “The Nothorodon, we heard its roar. The prophecy has begun,” it says. “Don’t you remember?”

My heart pounds. Words are molasses in my mouth. “But how did you get here?”

The horse cocks it’s head, it’s mane a changing chameleon. “Have you forgotten me?” The breath from it’s noise huffs against my face. “Look around you. The mummified veins. Do you not remember?”

Words slow from molasses to solid mass.

“We all die here, if you are imprisoned.” The horse walks away.

“But,” I say quietly. “I’m not imprisoned.”

The flick of the tail. The mane. It’s familiar but I’m not sure why. “Oh yes,” it says. “Yes you are.”

The ground under my feet, isn’t just solid rock. Little grooves and ruts line it, climbing up the walls, entering each cell. Impossible, isn’t it? For water to carve the rock in such a way. The echo of the horses feet mingle with mine as I head back towards the mural.

I peer into each cell though, this time.

Afraid, of course I am. Who wouldn’t be? But I just saw a flying horse, what else is in here.

Piles of bones, a skull on top. Clearly an Einiosaurus from the Cretaceous period. Its curved horn jutting down, pointing for me. Wait, pointing for me?

More cells are like it. And no matter that Maiasaura, my favorite of the Hadrosaurs, line several of the cells, my mind cannot focus. It’s full, just too full. But the allure of discovery sits with the horse.

I’m not imprisoned, here. Impossible.

The torch light grows as I reach the mural. Terry is already back, painting furiously. He steps back, torch in his hand, my torch gone.

“What the hell?” Terry says. He kneels in front of the bones. “Wake up! Wake up!”

The mural. Him and I still dance, head against chest. Smile on my lips and his eyes closed sweetly. But Chief lays at our feet. A final swipe of Terry’s brush leaves blood trickling from Chief’s throat and staining the lilacs.

“Oh my God,” Terry mutters, hands against his face. “I can’t remember, Odon. I’m trying but I just can’t get it right. My memories are just too far gone.”

And then he turns and leaves and heads up the stairs and into the Storage Room and silently he stands, back against the hallway before he enters the empty thrown room. His paintbrush is in his back pocket, red cakes his hand. The whittling knife in his other. His feet are quiet as they pad through the room. His ear against the door, so is mine.

A muffled, “Nebulae, tell me you love me,” from the other side.

The shake of Terry’s hand against the knob.

“He’ll kill you, Terry,” is all I manage to say and Terry must hear me as he sprints from the room silent as he came and into the Grief Room.

He paces the room, eyes locked on the faces staring back at him. And then he pauses at a man and a woman who’s child now tends the goat herd.

“Will they ever know,” Terry whispers. “She has no parents.”

He leaves the Mainstay but I’m stuck, unable to move from the doorway. “Terry!” I yell. “What are you doing!?”

His pause. The moment his head turns just enough towards me, I know he hears me.

“Come back! I’m stuck here! Don’t take a life, Terry!” I whisper to no one but myself, “Don’t bring death, Terry. Don’t kill a life.”