And deeper, still.

The beast slumbers, growling snores filling the dark cavity. Trails of smoke dance in idle wisps from its nostrils, eluding to the fire deep and dormant.

It lies on a mountain of treasure, an endless sea of all that is coveted. The scintillating mass mingles with the dull forms of books and tomes, of crisp curling papers and dry feathered quills.

The beast doesn't seem to notice, doesn't seem to care that its bed is a wealth of knowledge, of inspiration. It sleeps on, dreams on, idle dreams about things even it can't fathom.

And then a noise, a gently prodding from the outside. An eye flutters open lazily, a yellow orb slitted with black.

A figure steps into the scene, a small assembly of iron, steel, and brass. It clatters in noisily, nosily. The beast does not approve. A swipe of its taloned claw removes the distraction, the thing send to raid and plunder its riches, its dreams. 

The beast settles down again, content in its cave. A tail swished behind it, raising a tidal wave of treasure, falling upon its hide like a great and golden blanket, marked in patches by the grays, browns, and faded whites of the books.

If it could smile, it would. It settles for something different though, a sort of outburst unexpected from such a creature.

Air is gathered, nostrils twitch, then


An outpouring of the dreams inside.

The End

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