"Like them," says Flesh Horse, then lets their tongue dangle loosely from their mouth.

Rye-mother picks through the popcorn, finds an unpopped kernel, and crunches hard onto the seed.

Flesh Horse pays Rye-mother no mind. "Maybe other ways. But all would obey. Like the light in the tower, gone now, gave commands. Those songs of those that consume."

The Librarian huffs softly from behind their veils as they scoop an armful of popcorn off the plate. "They can't sing those songs," they warble and trill before the crunching resumes.

"Maybe they learn," Flesh Horse responds with a low rumble as they sniff the air.