The mist clinging to Broken Spine’s peak wasn’t just air - it dragged like wet wool, thick and hushed, soaking through the winter fur of the two beasts that’d climbed since dawn. Glacial stopped dead - a hulking stallion, grey as a thunderhead, his mottled hide slick beneath the thick gloom. Yet his ears pivoted sharply, pinned back, alert. He despised spots that hid what they really were. “We oughta take a break right here, Glacial,” said Severyn, her tone soft and flowing beneath the quiet of the peaks. Close by, she stayed - just steps off - a shape stark white in contrast to the dull haze around, seeming almost made up yet perfectly calm. Glacial snorted, the sound muffled by the air. “Rest? The peak is too open. And the air is wrong.” He almost turned to move them under the pine cover - then a glint snapped at his eye. A thin spark of coppery gold, just above soil level, flickered in the scattered glow. Severyn spotted it at once, shifting her head sideways. "Could that be?" Glaber didn’t look at her - moved toward the oddity slowly, like something on edge, every step cautious. Light came off a rock, about the size of a horse’s heart, roundish, clear, gleaming dull. Dangled under the crooked bottom limb of one twisted little juniper growing alone out there. Held up by just a slender thread of dark tendon. The rock shimmered like it held burning light inside - yet that didn't freeze Glacial mid-breath. Once he stayed totally motionless, shutting out the sounds clinging to the peak, a faint, steady pulse crept into his ribs, thrumming below silence. He hung his head down, while his breathing made tiny clouds. Though quiet, the rock seemed to murmur. It didn't use speech, nor the hush of breeze or flow of water - instead, it came through deep waves of emotion. Glacial, who's always shut tight on purpose, sensed this tale push up against his rigid surface. A history of separation hit him, wild rushing momentum, a chase dragging across ages that finished in treachery. He heard the echo of an oath marked in blood - and shattered beyond repair. He nearly got it. It lingered just out of reach - like some half-remembering that tugged at him, something heavy from long ago he’d spent years pushing away. Glacial flinched back, tossing his huge head sideways. Though he grasped just a fragment, it already felt like too much. That rock carried old frailty, soaked up grief like a sponge. With a slow lurch forward, he aimed for the juniper - clamping down ard would break the twig clean off, killing the link and shutting out the nagging hum. "Stop," Severyn whispered, trailing close behind without a sound. He shot her a glare, cold as mountain ice. “It is a distraction. A hollow thing left by some fool.” “It’s not hollow, Glacial. Feel the weight of it.” Severyn did not move to touch it, but her gaze was fixed, steady. “It is older than these trees. Older than us.” Glacial sensed the tightness building up in his back muscles. Being idle went against everything he was, more so when things didn’t make sense. He needed order - but this glowing rock throbbed with chaos. Lifting one sturdy hoof, ready to crush the twig, the thread, and the crystal into dust under his metal tread. The sound grew louder. As it sharpened, far-off fragments came together - not as clear pictures, but as deep, heavy isolation. This emptiness felt familiar to Glacial, mirroring the quiet aloneness he’d chosen himself. The murmur held no caution - just a truth about endless, raw absence. The stallion paused, his thick hoof suspended above the ground. Yet he stared at the rock once more, spotting how the slender cord stayed still without any breeze to move it. Still tight, completely unmoving. Whoever knotted it long ago clearly intended it never to come loose. He let his hoof down easily, steering clear of the twig. That shaky little rock - buzzing, crying softly - had some force he couldn’t name; Glacial wrecked only the stuff he fully got. He reached forward, avoiding force - his stiff mouth close to the rock’s gritty face. Not eager to make contact, or take in every detail, yet feeling pulled to test what it truly was. A small push came from his nostril, gentle, cautious. The rock shifted slightly, yet the atmosphere tightened - crisper, colder, somehow more real. Instead of a murmur, now came a pure tone, similar to silver ringing after impact. Then that old grief flared, turning Glacial's hazy unease into a sudden gut-punch recalling total isolation. He jerked away right then - sound like a snarl building deep in his chest. “It tells you things you wish to forget,” Severyn observed quietly. Glacial swung toward her, fury glowing in his gaze through the dark. “That doesn't give me anything real - just static.” He battled the impulse to break it again, knowing the rock's outlast him just by sticking around. It brought uncertainty and emotions he didn’t ask for into a world built on saying no. He wheeled around, abandoning the artifact. “The night is coming. We move down, now.” He walked off, hooves squashing the wet moss, dropping Severyn near the bush. Behind her, the rock shimmered dull light while she tuned into the tale Glacial wouldn’t stick around for. With each strong step, the horse vanished into the mist, though that deep, steady tone - the one tied to a vow long buried - tagged along downhill, hidden under his quiet act. Nothing changed on the surface, yet the stone shifted something inside him just the same.