Sighing, the moppy headed girl gathered her tools and continued with her work. Some time later she heard a faint voice calling from the lower, undiscovered regions of the gearwork. Curiously (of course) she left her minor work to discover this interesting development, for no one in the leagues of timekeepers spoke as this one did.
After clambering down several ladders and throw a short maze of old parts the moppy headed girl came on a small storeroom deep in the gears. It appeared as if the room had been undisturbed for quite some time, although it was immaculately kept. She sat down on a pile of straw for a small rest and suddenly fell asleep.
It was a dream of old, like the ones on the surface so many memories ago, faded. The voice slowed its chanting as she dreamt on.
She woke up in the straw as she had laid down, softly but immediately. The room had changed, and so had the voice that brought her here.
