Blind-Sight

Venturing into the bowels of the earth had become second nature, so far from the warmth of familiar territory. Feathery pelt buffeted by winter winds, the herald padded cautiously below. It was a long trek. After all, he had begun in the strange labyrinth of tunnels called the northern mines. Sightless gaze stared straight ahead, unaware of the cloying darkness that pressed in on all sides. The only hint that he was retreating ever deeper was that the air grew stale and warm. Curiosity killed the cat, hadn't it? It was a grim thought, but whoever was singing that siren song from below must be an old soul.

Pale toes stepped inadvertently into a rivulet stream that passed into the locus obscuro. The splash of his paw seemed to echo for miles through the cavern. Well, so much for a respectful entrance. A soft sigh passed inky lips, as the golden behemoth continued his tentative path. The booming voice, lilting in reverent hymns, only grew louder with each step. Though vastly different from his own songs, there was a familiarity of sorts to hear them.

Tall auds tipped back, caution bodes him move slowly. Dare he intrude? He's made his way down here, but should the scarred giant really be interrupting? Perhaps this stranger did not wish to spread his gospel, as the herald did so wantonly.