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He had been looking for the mother for a long, long time, since before he and his brother had returned from the far-off lair, and a long, long time before that. He was many and he was one, cloaked in shadows and skittering legs and eyes, red and unblinking.

The moth that settled upon his shoulder, nestling into his hood just below his crown of thorns, was not one of his.

"Oh!" Lurks Beneath said, jumping upwards, clapping his skeletal hands together, the sound reminiscent of a door knocker against a door. "Oh, oh, oh, oh!"

It was hers. It was time.

It fluttered out of his scarves, circling around him once before leading him astray, off the grounds of the school, through a portal, and going far, far away. Lurks Beneath pursued it with a dog-like enthusiasm: eager, excitable, and playful.

He did not recognise the lair, but he was here, and his wings beat against the sands, and a spider of shadow and fear crawled up from his throat, curious.

"Mother brought us," Lurks whispered to it, conspiratorially. "The Mother, not our real one. The only real family we have is Waits, and he will come soon, too. You will see."

"Oh," he said, eager and excitable, turning around and around to look at them all. There were three or four, blank-eyed and stubbled and gaunt.

"Did the Mother make you?" Lurks Beneath asked, innocent, and began to pet the hair of one that shoved its grubby fingers into where his face exposed a jawbone and teeth, trying to crawl inside, as if it could fit there, somewhere. Anywhere.

"There is nothing but nothing in there," he said, indulgent and crooning soft like a chirping cricket. He smacked its face with a bony hand, an affectionate tut-tut with more force. "Eating nothing begets nothing. That is how nothing works, after all."

One held a shadowy moth with its bony, thin hands, the skin of them paper-thin, its hands trembling.

Lurks wondered what they were, and who they were, because they wore the same-face, like and and Waits would so long ago, pretending to be one or the other or the other or the one.

"Even colts and fillies know that nothing is nothing. Who are you, to not know?"

Of course Waits would be the last to arrive of those invited upon this venture, the poor moth messenger did have its work cut out for it with getting this one to follow it. Firstly having to get his attention from his sort of mid sleeping state as he sort of zoned out and then trying to simply get the message across; because the alchemist had been very keen in trying to trap it. A new pet perhaps, he had to wonder and then where it had come from. Certainly wasn't one of Lurks' based on the feel of it but seemed special enough that it wasn't a common moth; the soft whisper was signs enough.

Eventually he did get himself up and followed as the small moth messenger had intended for him to do. The horsemen oh so hoped it wouldn't be a long journey as he gazed at the long stretching landscape of sand before him with half lidded eyes.

But it was.

Well at least to his standards.

So he had been a little slow in reaching the destination with the others to the unfamiliar lair. A look was passed to the unknown of his clan that had also arrived (Who? Hm, curious) before sliding his gaze to that of whom he knew oh too well, "Lurks..." He called to his brother, perhaps a greeting or just an announcement of his arrival.

"Interesting." Waits then said of those creatures that seemed to have captured Lurks. He took a step towards them and pulled back one of his sleeves to reach out an uncovered hand at them. Touchy touchy.

The gentle tones of wooden chimes announced the arrival of the next creature to to step from the lair. Nest looked much same as she ever had, a sage rarely found in any one place for long, and not at all for the past few years. The crawling,, fluttering gown began to shift into a cloak of sorts, suited more for travel than leisure.

"Ahhh," she rasped sweetly as her messengers flew back into her mouth, "...you always did appreciate pets." The chimes turned quietly merry but ceased with an abrupt, authoritative clatter as she turned back and reentered the lair. Come.

His hand pressed back against the small creatures face lightly, but his fingers dug in a little to the sides of its face to feel the density of the structure. Idly he contemplated about applying a little more pressure, to see if he could crush its head or exactly how much force would be needed to do so. It looked so frail. Nor did it seem to be pulling away, just seemed to stand there in his grasp. A hand did reach up to paw at the hem of his sleeve.

Waits' gaze was pulled away before he could really do much and rested on his brother as he chatted away about the creatures that had seemed to collect around him. The alchemist almost sighed hearing the mention of that familiar title coming from his sibling, "the Mother," he repeated. Skeptical. As with the later few times Lurks would talk about her. He had given up the notion of investigating her with the too few leads to go on, how much work it might actually be so had designated her perhaps a fabrication.

But then. Apparently not. And Waits found himself surprised to be in the presence of the figure whom he had figured to be not real, "oh, she exists," he stated aloud and pushed the small humanoid creature away from him. His interests now shifted. (Goodbye possible moth pet).

The alchemist allowed himself to be tugged, took it as a signal really and followed the pair. "I'm coming." He glanced at the remaining scavenger before he too entered the lair, his mind abuzz with all the possibilities he could find in such a place.

The entrance closed behind them, leaving the lair's paths dark until several firefly-esque creatures swarmed close, merrily bobbing as they dimly lit the path ahead. The movements of the humanoid pets began to mimic the insects flight pattern, and a few tried to give chase, having recently learned that game outside.

Nest led them to a room ornately carved, floor to ceiling and every inch of wall, with the history of their clan. Turning, she took in the room for a long while, her breath a mournful rattle. The Sage's focus still and narrowed on the three who journeyed at her summons and whatever she found within them was deemed satisfactory, as a moment later she nodded with a single, firm clack!

"You may stay here and tend to this lair's workings for a time. These pets take much to grow from grub to being, train them into usefulness. Do not destroy these creatures willfully. Their original walks within these walls, you may play with him but do not allow him to die. To know how many lives are worth that of his spawn is a worthwhile thing."

Absently, she petted Lurk's head as she went on, "There is another upon the human sands, who trains another pet. It owes a debt that seeks no end. Study and question that worthless one and perhaps you shall walk from this place with knowledge gained."

Nest appeared ready to go on, but suddenly her head snapped up with a discordant jangle that smoothed and harmonized into quiet beauty. Eyes wide she stared up at the wall, at the stone visage of the Last Queen who gazed down on them from above. The Sage moved her head, lovingly following a tune only she could hear as her flesh began to peel away into gentle, fluttering wings. Bit by bit, Nest broke apart into her moths, first slowly, then all at once.

She left the three with a final, shuddering whisper, "I must hunt."

Qarah bared its teeth at Lurks as Lurks insisted that he did have respect, he did, and let its expression speak for what it thought of that. The Sage seemed indulgent of the clamoring child, though, and Qarah subsided with a soft snort and an irritable rattle of beads, quashing the urge to return another pinch.

It lifted a hand to let one of the firefly-creatures settle on its finger, examining it delicately, wings and long legs and glow, and contemplated whether it could add anything to its lovely, lovely beetles to make them give light. It did not eat the firefly. It was in another's Lair now. That would be impolite.

It listened attentively to the sage's instructions. Tend to the lair, care for the pets, train them. Play with the original, but gently, gently, a fragile toy not to be broken. Study the other who also trained a pet. Why had the Sage not called him here also? Qarah would go and find out for itself, satisfy its curiosity.

"May you hunt well," it said solemnly as the moths fluttered away, watching them go with intent and hungry eyes, hungry not for literal food but for knowledge. Someday. Someday, it promised itself, it could be beetles. It cupped its hand and teased a beetle out of its sleeve and into its palm, touching the jeweled carapace with a delicate finger.

It was alone with the capering one and the obedient one now. It could probably spend its time here avoiding them, if it chose. But the Sage had seen fit to assign it here with these two. It would work with them, because she had given them all the same tasks and thus must expect them to cooperate. It turned a mildly offended look on the other two. "I am called Qarah," it announced. "You may call me by that name. I will call you by your names when you give them to me, unless you are stupid, and then I will call you stupid."