He didn't see the island where it floated in the sky. How could he? The stag was as unseeing and eyeless as the unfortunate elk he had opted to wear over his face, a morbid stupa celebrating a life lost and a walking grave; he wasn't even aware that he had arrived by the shrines of the gods, only that the ground was different beneath his feet and heat radiated towards the black skin like a clammy touch. The lonesome stag only realized that something was going on when something else suddenly surrounded his feet, and when he was brought upwards the sinking feeling in the gut had him snorting and prancing around on his cloud, dangerously close to tumbling off the edge had such a thing been allowed.

Somehow he arrived safely to the surface of the new feature in the landscape. He was relieved to find himself on solid ground again but immediately confounded since the soil upon which he stood was profoundly different from the one he had just left. Was this some kind of trick? Had he been cheated somehow, was there hidden people around waiting to see his reaction so they could laugh? Suspicious and wary the black stallion stalked onwards, walking with the usual high-kneed action and swaying head as horns and feet were used to prod and test the air, making sure neither object nor pitfall awaited him before he put weight on each limb. It was a slow way to travel, the only way he could walk safely; if running became necessary he would of course do so but it was a sorry sight to behold with plenty of stumbling, tripping and bumping into things.

Alas, this swishing of very long, very sharp horns weren't always the best way to go about either. Unwittingly wandering into the tent-city the young stallion is left clueless to the existence of roads or obstacles. When he wander straight towards one of the areas designated to the herdlands his horns catch onto a fluttering tent-side, and as Morir jerk his head roughly to get loose the sharp edges of the diamond spears open a long, gaping gash into the cloth.

The tearing sound make him stop. Stressed out and tense he stand there, a telltale proof of crime in form of a long strip of fabric dangling from the horns and obvious damage done to whatever structure he got caught in. The area seem deserted yet the stag stand frozen stiff, ears clipping nervously to catch any sound of movement... He isn't even sure himself why he doesn't just turn tail and run, before someone can catch him in the act of vandalism.