Ah know this place. The first words thought-spoken by Booker in days, and Barnett nearly flew out of his skin, jumping as he crossed from the grey tunnel into a bright, wide, open room. Gee-sus, scare me right out of the body, why don't you? A soft chuckle came from the scribe's murky corner of their shared mind, and then Barnett felt the unfamiliar sensation of being pushed aside - enough for Booker to "see" outside, he supposed. This place is im-poor-tant, ah can feel it. 'ere, let me- Barnett pushed back a wave of panic. Could he trust Booker to front, even for just a moment? The decision was taken out of his hands when the push became a shove, and the scribe had the helm for long enough to hold out a slender arm and point to a nearby wall, overlooking the river that snaked its way through Polaris. There! His voice was at once powerful and frightened, but he subsided quickly, letting Barn take the reigns once again. The numbat panted, shaking his head before slowly beginning to limp in the direction Booker had pointed out, like a forgetful specter. A few more feet, a twinge of old burns, and Barnett sat back on his haunches in front of the wall, eye narrowed and head pitched to one side. The hell, Books? It's just a wall! Booker coughed from his corner, and Barnett groaned in annoyance. The wall was... well. A wall. A mightily charred wall, but practically everything in this place was charred or destroyed in some way. The wall was shadowed, with pockets of glowing crystals strewn about, and the numbat shuffled forward to poke at a shadowed section - and fell through the wall itself with a startled squeak, rolling along the ground and coming to a stop in the middle of a tiny safe haven. Or, well, it looked like the remains of a safe haven. The stench of charred moss hung in the air, as clear as if whatever had happened was only yesterday, even a few hours ago, and what once was surely a brightly-lit cove was now filled with cracked and eerily flickering crystal clusters. Torched remains of mushrooms and a spongy, half-decayed, half-burned carpet covered the floor. Spots of dried red formed a trail leading outside, and Barnett huffed, getting up only to begin to pace through the dwelling. This was important, like Booker had said, but why, Barn hadn't the foggiest. Oh well. He loved mysteries. With another fortifying sip of drugged, alcoholic tea, Barnett got to work.

@Khloros

He'd meant to come here with Booker, but the numbat's fragile mental state over the last few days had made him hesitate. He'd finally made up his mind to venture back to Polaris alone, to look over the den, and to give Booker fair warning about its condition before asking him to come with him to visit.

Imagine his surprise, then, when upon entering Polaris, he saw the numbat wandering around already.

Khloros hesitated, glancing warily up at the Spire, but it was empty; scorchmarks blackened parts of the ground below, and the rotting corpse of something large and tan lay decomposing off to one side, in the distance. He doubted Booker could even see it over the new fissures and rock piles on the ground.

With a soft snort the horse shoved aside his fear, stepping into the cavern and making his way over to Booker. He saw the numbat vanish into his old den, and the plagued horse quickened his pace, moving along on spindly black legs.

Khloros found, to his disappointment, that he could not outright fit into the little cave anymore. He could, however, hang his head into it, peering inside, his lamplike eyes lighting up the space just a little. It was decimated, charred. With a soft sigh through flared nostrils, he turned to Booker.

"Booker. I'm... sorry," he offered quietly. There was no way of knowing how badly the poor numbat would be taking this; for all Khloros knew, it was the first he'd seen of his old home since its obliteration by the dragon Raheerah.

________________

BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

@Booker

Whether the hoofsteps were lost among most other sounds within the numbat's mind or he simply hadn't anticipated them to follow, Barnett jumped about a foot in the air at the soft sigh behind him, ready to whirl around and chew whatever had crept up out. Instead, he froze at the voice, low and quiet, gentle. Booker. I'm... sorry. Brother... I am sorry... Booker... I've failed... Wish me luck, Booker... I love you. Barnett shook his head rapidly, wincing, turning around slowly and staring up at the... thing... leaning its head into the burnt cove. It was... strange. Unfamiliar. Booker was silent and still in the back of his mind, and the numbat in control narrowed his eyes, speculatively. There was a hint of memory there, but it was tainted with fog and smoke. Nothing good, but he knows your name, Books. What exactly do we do here? Booker gave a mental shrug, and Barnett huffed, trying out a smile that might have come off more like a grimace. He'd had to deal with the weird mushroom cult kittens, sure, but the black one and the grey one had left early, and Dove had been half-drowned anyways. Delphine had fled as soon as she could - though Barnett couldn't exactly blame her. He'd always wondered why anyone had stuck around. This was... new. Weird. Uncomfortable. And mildly terrifying. This kind of risk could get them exposed, could force Booker to front, could set them back to being nonfunctional again. Barnett coughed, unsteadily, scuffing his working back paw against the ashen floor. "Nothin' to 'pologize for," he mumbled, laying on Booker's accent thick like molasses, unable to scrounge up the name of the... horse? He looked like a horse, like Delphine, just more... glowy. And skinnier. Concern wrinkled the numbat's brow, and he hopped forward a bit, natural tendency to care for just about everything getting the better of his caution. "Ya alright? Ah haven't... seen much of ya," he lied smoothly, hoping to whatever that mushroom Mother thing was that the stallion actually hadn't been around much in the time before Barnett had taken over.

@Khloros

Khloros gazed down at Booker, solemnly listening to his assurance that there was nothing to apologize for. He saw the briefly narrowed eyes, and thought that he'd startled the numbat--or maybe that Booker was pushing down his own grief. And then Booker was asking him how he was.

Hasn't seen much of me...?

Well... He had lived in Eridanus since Booker's return, sticking relatively close. But he supposed he could have been around more...? The foal pushed the thought aside.

"I'm... fine. Yeah. I was coming to se if it was safe here, to see how bad your den was. I guess... it'd be hard to live here again, unless you grew everything back. But then you'd be trapped if the dragon came back," he added. Then he looked around, and exhaled with soft regret. "I can't even fit inside anymore."

He swished his tail, peering down at his friend for a moment before asking, "What are you going to do?"

He meant in terms of returning to Polaris, or staying in Eridanus. He still wasn't sure, himself, where he belonged.

________________

BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

@Booker