Bucephalus hummed as he worked, using the arc of his wing to gently clean a section of stone of the pillar, working slowly and gingerly with the utmost focus. To see something as beautiful as the Rotunda so dirtied and forgotten, broken and abandoned, was almost...painful. Already he had cleaned one pillar of dust, debris and caked dirt, and was working on his second. It was a slow process, every brush of his wing slow and steady, gentle to the stone, and he paused every other stroke to blow away the loose dirt. This task was soothing; he should be working in the mine, gathering the ore for the wall and gates... but there was only so much of the dank air he could handle, of hauling heavy stones in his bags.

This was a sort of...side hobby. He lacked the ability to restore the Rotunda, but the least he could do was clean it up. It's presence relaxed him, a sort of haven away from anything, and anyone, in the Throat. Pausing and taking a step back, he surveyed his work so far. A patch roughly the size of his hoof was spotless, the pale stone showing bright compared to the darker, dirtier stone of the rest of the pillar. "Come sweet one. Let me bring you back to glory days." He hummed, returning to his work. When the arc of that wing started to grow sore, when his joints protested the unnatural movement, he switched to the other wing.

He didn't know how long he worked, but eventually he pulled away once more, the circle of clean pillar larger than before, but only by a small amount, maybe the length of a cheek hair. Hunger and thirst pulled the black away from the pillar, and he walked towards the small pond, dropping his head and gulping down the water. Birdsong filled the air, and he lifted his head, smiling at the trees. A bird trilled out, and Buce raised his head, mimicking the call. There was silence, then the bird called out once more. And once more Buce copied it, and an explosion of chatter erupted from the trees. Shaking his head with a laugh, he turned from the bank, lowering his head to graze on the grass he could find under the snow. Green greeted his muzzle, and despite his every urge he skipped over the growing shoots, settling for the dry grass, letting the new life grow before he ate it.

Word Count: 471 Tags: @[Ampere]