...of a unicorn skull

"Is this a skull of one of the Town unicorns?" I ask her.
"Yes. The old dream is sealed inside."
"I am to read an old dream from this?"
"That is the work of the Dreamreader, " says the Librarian.
"And what do I do with the dreams I read?"
"Nothing. You only have to read them."
"How can that be?" I say. "I know that I am to read an old dream from this. But then not to do anything with it, I do not understand. What can be the point of that? Work should have a purpose."
She shakes her head. "I cannot explain. Perhaps the dream-reading will tell you. I can only show you how it is done."
I set the skull down on the table and lean back to look at it. The skull is enveloped in a profound silence that seems nothingness itself. The silence does not reside on the surface, but is held like smoke within. It is unfathomable, eternal, a disembodied vision cast upon a point in the void.
There is a sadness about it, an inherent pathos. I have no words for it.

[Hard-Boiled Wonderland and The End of the World, Murakami, H.]