Though the doorway to Zozo's chambers had not been dissimilar from any number of doors they'd passed on their climb, the rooms beyond were every bit as richly appointed as one might assume the ruling sorceress of the land would command. The first space into which they so cautiously emerged was merely an entryway; smooth stone floors and columns resembling weathered desert rock, as if created from the living stone of the Spire. Beyond that, moonlight fell through the honeycomb lattice carved into the ceiling, sparkling off shallow pools and live trees and night-blooming flowers, a tiny version of the gardens at the tower's base. The falling sound of the water covered any misstep or whisper as the trio moved deeper, passing hallways that led back down to the sorceress's personal servants' quarters directly beneath them. There was a room meant for receiving guests and one for taking meals, a few barred ones obviously intended for less willing visitors, and one that fellow magic users would recognize as intended for safely practicing and performing potentially dangerous spells. Each was a little higher than the last, spiraling further up the tower.<br/><br/>And each empty. No guards, no alarms, no flashes of magical fire. Perhaps the Spire relied too heavily on its initial soldiers and wards, believing that they could never be breached. Or that no one would ever be so foolish as to try.<br/><br/>The last room, then, had to be where the sorceress slept. If anywhere had additional protection, magic or otherwise, surely it would be that place, where she would be most defenseless, and keep the things most precious near to her.<br/><br/>The huge book sat closed on its stand at the foot of the canopied bed, and it was easy to overlook the small creature slumbering on the floor beside it. As the heavy drapes across the archway were brushed aside, Aza tilted a big ear and sighed a little. When was she going to have her own room? Then she wouldn't be annoyed by sorceresses coming to bed too late. As she stretched her forelegs and gave a sleepy murmur, it was her nose that told her that the dark shape in the door was not Zozo. Neither were the two shapes behind that.<br/><br/>Her head came up, the candlelight winking from the stones in the wide band of gold that circled her neck like a decorative piece of armor, and she and the intruder looked at each other across the thick woven carpets. If this was what the sorceress left to defend her belongings, it didn't seem like much: maybe twentyfive pounds of leggy, fluffy-tailed crimson-colored canine, with an expression that was more quizzical than defensive or fearful.