The moment he steps from the wilderness to Helovia, he can feel something is badly wrong.

It isn't just the all-consuming darkness that alerts him to Helovia's sickness - he puts that down to the fact it is midnight, and the moon is naught but a silver smear in the sky. No, something feels wrong about the place, and the behemoth's nostrils flare as his ears fold into the tangled threads of his mane. He senses eyes on him, as though he is being watched, as if behind every tree an enemy lurks; his massive head swings from side to side, cold grey gaze searching for whatever demon lurks in the shadows. Nobody there, comes the chirping voice in his head, and he glances up to see his green war-dragon spiralling around above him, her flame-tail illuminating the blackness around herself and her bonded like a beacon. "Check again," he mentally commands her, sending her an image of the gigantic trees that lean like statues over the path before them. "We don't want to be taken by surprise."

Once, being taken unawares wouldn't have bothered either the monstrous stallion or his fire-blooded bonded; they could take down any in their path with consumate ease, even with the element of surprise against them. But since Cynder had been regressed to a hatchling, and since Tyradon had suffered the agonising war-wounds from that unicorn bastard, they were both extremely wary about being snuck up on. Their injuries, both mentally and physically, were still healing, and their combined senses were temporarily dulled as Tyradon tried to grow used to his dragon being somebody he needed to protect, rather than a fearsome creature of her own making. Obediently she flies ahead, lighting the path with occasional bursts of flame. It had only been a few months ago that she rediscovered her firebreathing skills, and she was keen to utilise them at every opportunity, much to the warmonger's amusement and sometimes annoyance. Her enthusiastic blasts of heat could easily give them away to any hidden enemy, but Tyradon fights the urge to ridicule her for her childishness; she has been through a lot, after all, as has he, and they could ill afford to be arguing when they faced this new land together.

The titan continues to press forwards, his massive hooves thudding against the soil as he moves swiftly and efficiently across the new land. There is a distinct chill in the air, and clumps of snow cluster at the bases of trees, indicating the presence of winter. Perhaps the beast has picked a poor time to enter a strange new world, yet there is something Isilme-esque about this place and after six years of living away from all his relatives, he feels it is high time to see if he can rediscover any. His scarred, bestial frame blends in well with the darkness, and he wonders what is wrong with this place - it is diseased, and Tyradon idly wonders if there is any way he can be tainted simply by being here. Any more than he is already tainted, of course. Nothing, comes Cynder's mental voice again, and she swoops towards him to land on his rump. Her claws sink into his flesh, but he barely notices; the skin on his shoulders and hindquarters is thick with scars caused by Cynder's talons, and the area is almost completely numb to her heavy landings. He grunts an affirmation - normally the dragon would have offered more information, yet he knows she still struggles with mental speech. Once she was almost fluent, but now she speaks like a young child - he knows she is as frustrated by this as he, and they both often curse the unicorn who forced her back to a hatchling.

Finally he slows, heavy tail lashing against his heated thighs as his muscular neck arches, sniffing the air once again and finding it clear. "Now we wait," he says aloud, and the green war-dragon sends a plume of smoke into the air by way of agreement. The warlord knows not who he will be approached by, and can only hope it is neither winged nor horned - as much as he has been working on his tolerance of the other species lately, he is unsure quite how much control he has over his primal desire to eradicate anything that isn't pureblood equine.