Something in the already-cynical spotted hyena twitched when all three heads said "thank you" in harmony. She wasn't entirely sure if the dog was sincere, or merely an obedient parrot, but either way, it was a vast improvement, and she was glad for it.

She listened and watched as he spoke and lifted a bone, and stood quietly as he bolted away.

Only then did she relax, shivering and sighing, and looking around. She'd have to trap this den. The pile. Her boulder--this entire place. Even if Kerberos changed entirely, and became some wise, glowing prophet or leader as the bones had showed her, another enemy might turn up--and dying in her own home? Hell, no. She would hide fungus everywhere, trap the place, and if someone dared attack her here again, she would swarm them and overwhelm them.

They would choke on their own madness, and they would die writhing.

For now, though, weakened and frightened--but trying to push past that--she turned and lapped up a bit more water. She shook her coat--globs of drying black goo flinging about, and splattering on the rock--and then turned to make her way back to the bone-pile.

Halfway there, she stopped.

Her mind was still on Kerberos. She hoped that he'd learn--that he'd grow. But if he didn't, well, she'd be watching. The question was, had her spores yet grown enough for her to keep tabs?

She closed her dark eyes, and focused. She cast her mind toward the fungus she'd planted--fungus whose brethren still grew in her coat. Her mind trembled along the walls, crept spiderlike rapidly over the rock floor, and reached the growing, microscopic fungus propogating in the three-headed-dog's white fur.

The panting of two heads. A bone clenched in teeth. Rock walls, racing by and below.

The imagery and sounds were brief, and jittering--and they left her gasping and staggering, disoriented, as she blinked open her eyes.

He's doing it, then. He's going. And it worked. I'll have to keep an eye on him.

She turned, weariness and triumph vying for priority in her mind, and crept back toward her pile. She'd think over her defenses, rest, and start setting them up once she'd properly slept. But she knew that her mind would keep returning to the three-headed dog, too. Giggle hoped he would learn, and become a wise thing rather than a rampant, vicious dog to be put down--but on the other side of things, she was just glad she hadn't died.

Something about this thought twitched in her mind, and she paused, one forepaw hanging in the air.

Death. How will I die? Her gaze slipped to the bone pile. ...Should I ask?

Something about her quailed at knowing this. Something in her feared not only to know, but to ask the bones such a thing. It seemed a sacrilege, somehow.

For awhile she pondered it, and then she shook her head, and went to find someplace hidden to sleep. That was something she would have to consider--closely--before delving into. If anything was "forbidden knowledge," certainly it was that.

Giggle pushed this from her mind; she lowered herself down, curling up in a clump of large ferns.. She wasn't dead now, and for now that's all that mattered.

Now stop thinking, and rest, she told herself irritably, tucking her head in her paws to sleep.

________________

Roll the bones.