The chill warmed him. The dark bellowed the embers of his heart. The rockbound passageways, barely wide enough to crawl through, hugged him like a loving parent. He knew the feeling would be interrupted, and soon. Another visitor due. Once more the lid would be lifted. The terrible light would spill in bringing the stamping of invisible horses, screams of phantom soldiers. And the curdling silence of voices lost to club or steel. Garth choked as the memories danced behind closed lids. His chest tightened. Then came rememberance. His muscles relaxed. Dank air returned to his lungs. The visit would be short. They would bring food to eat, crates to watch. Then they would leave, taking with them the din of the battle long lost. Until another came to take ownership of the anonymous wares. Duteous Garth the nicest would call him. Slap him on the back they would. Always when he was busy chewing, always making him spit his morsel. Annoying they were. Still, small sufferance for the lengths of solitude and sustenance paid in return for his vigil.