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In these caverns the natural black hugs the blue light as a mother to her newborn.
When the Seer beacons over the one that helps tend the beds in which the dead lay on, the helper nods and comes.
Chariot performs its duties well. It flutters its wings to offer a breeze for the resting souls. It adapts its nail from a thing that harms to a thing that carves names of the departed on the cavern soil.
The Seer is very pleased by it, it thinks. She performs actions that would imply so, such as bowing and clapping. The crowd of the Nightmare Troupe have done the same when they are pleased, it has learned.
Learning is an essential part of life in these tunnels.
Moments in this deep dimness pass and a routine activity is earned, then a few more pass and a routine route is learned.
Chariot traverses through the caverns with ease nowatimes, unlike when it would fall into deep ravines and try very hard to get back up. It is not the strongest of Vessels, but it has gotten better, if just slightly.
As it passes bug after bug, it observes as they make noise; upbeat noise, low murmuring noise, shaking noise, pounding noise.
It tries then, to imitate.
But nothing comes out.
So it stays, silent as the statues that watch over the many pathways. A perfect imitation of one had its eyes not darted every once in a while at the discovery of a new sound—ones it never would have noticed had it not stayed still and listened.
It hears the tinkling of breaking glass like a laugh.
It hears the pitter patter of water like the droplet of tears.
It hears a windy draft like the shriek of a kin.
Something inside Chariot catches.
Through these sounds and later ones, it is able to piece it together. Understand why it was made this way.
There are many strings of sounds in Hallownest that form words of mouth. A King desperate for the survival of his Kingdom. A kin that tried to pursue destiny which leaves behind silent memorials, and more like them both occasionally appearing but having no words to claim their own.
They were made to never have a voice. They were made to follow a chosen destiny in silence.
So soundless everything claims them to be, yet it knows more than anything that it has seen desperate pleas within mountains of shattered shells.
.........
The following moments, it walks a little quicker down pathways, noticing the way its feet hit against the damp cavern floor, plap plap plap.
When a deep and narrow gorge is in its way, it can open its wings wide, then flap hard enough to create a gust that propels it across, whoosh whoosh whoosh.
On occasions when something worthy of note happens, it claps its hands together to show a pleased approval, clap clap clap.
At the sight of a kin lost, it can cry out the blue of lifeblood that dwells within it, to tell its sibling that it is not alone, that it is here and always will be, drip drip drip.
A Vessel cannot speak... but they will be heard.