He sits in his labyrinth, colossal muscles still in the half light. His broad head turns. He gazes down a stone hallway and wonders if someone will come to visit. He crosses his hooves on the table before him, stares at powerful forearms, watches light glint on gold bracers. Eyes drop to stone floor. He sighs. Hours pass and shadows lengthen and he waits, quietly.
In the night there is the surprise of fire and bright metal, shouts then screams, he is bellowing and blood spills. He stares at the dead and wonders which could have been a friend.