As you run you begin to wonder what exactly it is you're running for. You mean, you know what you're running for, but really. What are you running for? You know without any doubt in your mind that you could destroy any one of the horses that are running around with you today. The Gray, Lace Face, the Drunk... none of them is anything special, nothing about any of them screams general to you. So why are you running? Couldn't you just wait until this nonsense is over, just challenge them and then show them you are destined to win? Perhaps, and yet here you are, chasing after a sloppy drunk and running from the Gray. Maybe it's too late for you. Maybe your training when you were young- training to follow the crowd, to become one with the herd- is too ingrained in you. Maybe you've become institutionalized and you're participating because even though you dissent, even though you plot against your king and queen, you are still a follower and not a leader. You snort with disgust at the very idea.

Stretching your canter out, not trying to gallop because you know that you wouldn't last more than a few strides, you focus on following after the Drunk. You do not try to follow in his wake- the threat of stones flying from hooves is enough to keep you off to the side. Your companion still flits ahead, trying her best to offer what help she can. She has yet to speak and you wonder if she may in fact be stupid, but for now she provides a service you cannot disapprove of.

Nevertheless, if you carry on as you are then you'll never get ahead of the short monster ahead of you. For a long time you wonder what you can do, how you can slow him down, how you can make him take a misstep or two. Then it occurs to you- magic. Since you weren't listening you're not really sure if magic use is technically in the rules or not, but since there's no physical manifestation of the magic you have gained it seems like nobody would be the wiser. Excellent.

Trying your best to focus on the Drunk, which is rather difficult while you're weaving and bobbing, avoiding magma and wincing as you step on stones, you dig deep within yourself and pull your magic to the surface. Releasing it towards the Drunk, you chuckle to yourself, wondering if it will hit its target or not. Besides, it would be rather funny to see his reaction- a shock to his brain making him feel the effects of Locoweed. You've used it on yourself before and you have to admit, the effect is rather real. The only disappointing part about it all is that you don't get the sweet, sweet juices of the locoweed plant running down your throat. Not that you suppose the Drunk will mind.

Speaking of Locoweed, you accidentally step into a hole in the ground, tweaking your right shoulder, stumbling as you exit it as a result of your slightly intoxicated mind. A few shortened strides slow you down, but in time you stretch yourself out again and continue cantering. Sweat lathers your side and your visible ribs heave with the effort of breathing. Still, you run on. Perhaps you are institutionalized. What a shame.