You don't want anybody to get you wrong. You're not following the Golden Asshole's directions because you care to be in his good graces. You'd just as well that he hates you. At least all false pretenses would be out of the way. You don't like him, he doesn't like you, the end. You're still a little bent out of shape from your challenge against Eris, but sore muscles can work just as hard as fresh ones. Besides, you're strong and a little pain never hurt anybody. But anyways, the reason you came. It's actually because that dumb drunkard decided that he was going to respond to the Auriferous King and you just can't stand the thought of some poser of a stallion taking the position that's rightfully yours. Otherwise you'd just wait until there is a winner and smash them. But you don't want the Drunk to think, even for one moment, that he is worthy of a title such a General.

As you meander up, you try to stay in the back, unnoticed as much as possible, although your hulking size makes it somewhat difficult for you to remain inconspicuous. Still, as much disdain as you give the idea of having to run to prove that you're a worthy warrior, your training has already taken over your mind. You scan the field that you are to run, noticing imperfections in the land, noticing where it rises and where it falls, noticing the path you'll have to take and trying to consider how much energy you'll have to conserve to keep your body going the whole time. You also test the limb that was injured in your battle with Red, pressing weight onto it a few times to make sure that it will hold you reliably. Yes, no matter how much it disgusts you to answer the call of some idiot who dares to call you his king, you cannot forget your training.

Behind you, and unnoticed to you at the moment as your mind is very concentrated on the task at hand, your little wisp of a companion begins morphing into a variety of miniature shapes, mostly meant to piss of Midas, but perhaps some of the others as well. How many ways can she depict a black pegasus paint with mangled wings? The number is surprising, and yet she seems to shift between them with ease, going from bloody to broken to totally removed, and a variety of other lovely images. She even adds in a few of Rostislav for the hell of it, perhaps trying to aid you in your quest to defeat the field in this test of endurance, perhaps just being mischievous. Yes, as much as you dislike her, she fits right in.