The Girl takes a breath and steps forward, sliding past Ember Fox — close enough to feel the warmth radiating from its ember-bright fur. The fox turns to watch her pass, amber eyes steady, but does not move to stop her. The dripping grows louder with each step; the darkness does not deepen so much as shift, making room. Then she sees it: a thin column of water falling from somewhere unseen above, splashing into a shallow stone basin half-swallowed by shadow. Around the basin's rim, small pale shapes are arranged in a careful ring. She leans closer. Bones — tiny, bird-sized — each laid with deliberate care, as though placed by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. She straightens, heart tight. From behind her comes the soft, unhurried pad of paws. Ember Fox has followed after all.