The lone figure struggled wearily up the barren, stony slope. Catching his foot on one of the many black and protruding stones he fell to his hands and knees with a low groan. He reached down to gently massage the new injury before pushing himself, once more, onto his feet. As he stumbled upward the collection of scrapes, bruises and patches of torn skin grew. Wearily he paused every ten or so steps to lean against a tall stone, or to stand, swaying in the cold wind and wipe the clammy sweat from his forehead. He was hot and cold, his mouth was dry and his body, wet with the sweat of his exhausted exertion. A days-old fever pounded through his head like a herd of raging bulls and sent flashes of hot and cold throughout his every limb. He licked his lips and sought vainly to recall when he had last eaten bread, but his mind revealed only blank and monotonous memories of walking and climbing. He could not even remember why he was climbing this mountain. All he knew was that he had to get to the top, he had to get over, and soon.

Another low groan and the man forced one foot above the other. Always higher, colder and dryer. Wetter and wearier, would it never end? The evening shadows loomed dark above him, menacing and foreboding. The wind whistled in his ears, turning them blue and causing his teeth to chatter. He was so cold, cold and weary. As the sun disappeared behind the towering slopes the man lifted his eyes, expecting to see stars above the mountains' peaks, but something else caught his gaze. He peered, blearily upward. A light! A golden, warm, flickering light, like the rays of a warm fire shone enticingly out from a cavity higher up.

With a sense of rising hope and desperate longing the man quickened his pace, stumbling a great deal more and wounding himself terribly on the jagged black stones. Yet he cared not and could hardly feel as the stones tore into his feet, shins and hands. He had to get to the light. It filled his vision, controlled his mind. All he could think of was the light. Not a single idea of why he wanted it so ravenously filtered through his numb thoughts. He simply knew that he needed it, and quickly.

At last, after what seemed like an eternity of weary, desperate climbing, the man stood, swaying and trembling with fatigue, before the cave's entrance. A sense of caution awoke in his mind as he stared into the stony mountain's depths, so that it was with faltering step that he walked, warily, into the mountain. For a long while he could see nothing save the reflection of golden light off of the tunnel's smooth, amber-like walls. It gleam, warm and comforting, inviting him to pursue it, to find it and to claim it as his own. The man quickened his pace as the light grew until he stumbled out into an open cavern.

The walls on either side of him fell away as a few feet before him the ground dropped into a sheer cliff. Edging cautiously out onto the tongue of stone the man stood, still swaying and blinking feebly, to observe the cavern about him. It's walls continued as if pouring out from the tunnel's mouth and flowed into a circle, warm and glowing with the inner fire. For the man now saw that the flame was indeed hidden in the walls and streaked down their outer sides in vast cataracts of rippling gold. The roof of the cavern arched upwards, forming a smooth dome on which the golden flames fell and streaked down it's gleaming sides. One more cautious step forward and the man peered warily over the edge of the cliff.

Far, far below and curling up the round sides of the cavern – the golden pit – lay a long and shimmering shape. At first the man thought it a work of the golden fire and stone, so similar was its appearance to the walls and ceiling of the cavern. He thought, that is, until the long shape stirred. With a slow and sleepy movement, as that of a giant waking from slumber, the long, luxuriant coils of deep-amber and shimmering gold, unwound themselves and began gliding around the walls of the pit. Faster and faster they went, undulating like a continuous wave of fire, never faltering in movement or shifting in shape. The man stood, staring, his eyes transfixed and fever-numbed mind hypnotized by the living current beneath.

From it's sides and back there spread a fan-like array of shimmering golden feathers, widening in the wind of it's speed and rippling as if blown by an unceasing gale. As it began to slow it's circular dance the man espied the creature's head. Long and gracefully formed it was, like the golden crown and helm of a dragon lord. Slowly the creature wound it's way up the cavern's sides, slipping with a faint swish up the golden walls. As it grew nearer the man could not help but feel a tinge of fear. Something, a memory, awoke in his mind. Once a person had described to him such a creature that lived, deep within the mountain. It's name . . . he could scarcely remember.

Looking down past the approaching coils the man saw three golden baubles glowing. Their color nearly melded with the gleaming golden floor that lay streaked beneath with yellow flame. Oblong they were and pulsed as if possessing a life of their own. The man heard a low sound, as of leaves rustling in a fitful wind and looked up. There, above him, the great serpent had come to a rest. It's long golden coils wrapped in unending spirals down the pit and it's head a mere five hands breadths from his own.

The man stared with awe into the enormous creature's magnificent face and saw that he had been mistaken. It's gracefully formed head, like a crown and helm, had no appearance of the dragon lord. No, but this, with it's long and pointed nose, delicately formed webbing behind it's head, sweeping curve of jaw and arc of bone under the eyes, arc of bone above the eyes and their upward tilting slant – this was the face of a dragon Queen.

Yet dragon it was not and the man, gazing awestruck into the majestic face, realized with a cold stab to his heart, that her eyes were not open. The name of the great serpent floated through his mind ~ "Basilisk" as with another low hiss, she opened her eyes. A rushing moment before his gaze fixed on hers and the man felt every sore, ache, cold and pain in his body. Would it not be a relief to sink into the golden oblivion? The golden oblivion of her eyes . . . and he met the fiery gaze.