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(I’m not going to get trapped in here and die horribly, am I?)
“Of course not,” She said, trying to sound confident, and the child wriggled inside the gap.
How long they crawled through the darkness, She did not know. It was uncomfortably tight, and every time the child’s long horns caught on the rock they both had to fight a sense of panic. But, at last, the tunnel began to fill with a gentle purple glow, until it ended abruptly in a bright, open cavern.
“Ahhh…” She whispered softly, a warm, nostalgic feeling in Her chest, “this is what Crystal Peak is supposed to look like, little one.”
(It’s...it’s beautiful…) replied the child, sounding a little breathless. She felt some pride at that; after all, the majesty in front of them was one of Her creations.
The cavern sprawled around them, lit in shades of purple and pink by the thousands of crystal formations growing from the walls and floor. Little islands of black rock jutted through the glow, and on one of them, in the center, stood the whispering tree: a fragment of the dream made solid. Its delicate, twisting branches glowed a light rose color, and essence shimmered around it like a mirage.
(We need that, right?)
“Just a few branches. And some chunks of the crystal.” The child nodded, and hopped over the sea of crystals towards the tree. She gave a little gasp--the crystals looked a lot sharper and more dangerous than She remembered--but the child landed safely and approached the tree. Gently, almost reverently, it took one of the glowing branches in its dark hands and severed it at the base with its nail. A few drops of orange-gold liquid dripped from the cut edge, and the child gently placed it on the ground, before turning to the crystals. A quick, forceful slash with the nail and a few of the smaller pieces shattered them. The child reached out to catch them, and--
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