A tall dark clad man makes his way into the Hive in the twilight. His pace is hurried as if he is late for something as he strides forward, stopping suddenly as the streets open up, the great infirmary standing before him. With a slow and cautious pace he approaches, carefully scouring the walls. All around he does so til at last his eye catches a glimmer of colour. Proceeding nearer he looks over the large mural painted there.
Lines, chaotic and meaningless of every colour plaster the wall, coalescing and entwining spread from stone to stone. He studies, his eyes moving over the strange work, his feet moving closer unbidden by him. His movements slow, and closer with every minute does he find himself nearer the strange painting til at last he stands within an arms length, the hood scanning so slowly over the works in front of him.
Left staring at the very midst for just a minute a movement near causes him to stir and look. The Dabus, newly arrived, raises its brush, streaming with soap and water and makes swift of its business. Only seconds does it take for the colours to streak and run, the being knowing its work quite well.
He stands back as the painting is erased forever. As the Dabus turns Montacca raises two fingers to him before departing. His feet follow a path to the market but he stops and turns after a brief pause, making his way instead into a near tavern.
The Writing On The Wall
