He returns to the scene of the bear's demise, to the land where the great beast's blood now mingles with the eerie crimson falls. The colossus feels drawn to this place now, and has already gleefully spilled his scent across a number of the red-leaved trees dotted around. Mine, mine, mine. Each time he thinks of the fight, he feels warmth spread through his entire body, and the temptation to do as Ode did is most certainly present in the weight between his thighs. He had felled a bear, a God; he had knocked its leg out from under it and brought it crashing to the ground for the others to finish off. The heavy bruise on his left side where the falling carcass hit him throbs, but he cares little - he only wishes it was a cut, so that time would not fade it and he would always have a memento of the fight.

Because, annoyingly, he had not received anything for his efforts. Other, inferior horses who had done far less than he to save Helovia had been given bits of the bear's carcass for themselves - Volterra, who had played a massive part in the beast's demise, got nothing. Irritation flashes across his harsh features, but he supposes he does have his memories of the battle to do with as he will. Let the other Helovians run around with their unearned gifts; he will forever have the satisfaction of knowing he is a Godslayer.

The boils that have erupted across his body do not count as mementos; they are an annoyance, a blight. Each time they pop, the behemoth has to grit his teeth against the pain, but a new one always emerges where the last one died. He has tried everything - getting his dragon to freeze them off with his icy breath, bathing them in water...but nothing works. The only thing he can think to do is return to the land where he's assuming they've come from. He remembers touching several new plants during the battle, and can only assume that they are the cause of his discomfort. He drags several leaves from some of the plants he definitely touched, and swallows them down, grimacing. Using his hoof and some water from the falls, he grinds more leaves into a soggy poultice, and has Vérzés apply it to a couple of his boils. Not all of them, just in case it makes them worse, but enough to see if it has an effect.

The bloodstains are still livid against the grass, and the behemoth smirks down at them once he's done with his makeshift healing. His sore side pulsates with morbid glee as memories flood him, and he allows his massive weight to shift and lean against a nearby tree as his eyes flutter blissfully shut, thinking that perhaps a nice rest will speed up the healing process of his boils. He bends one hindleg to relax it, and allows each muscle in his body to slip into relaxation. Everything - everything - loosens and hangs free as he lapses into a doze, falling into his memories and embracing them like an old friend. He dreams of his hooves crunching into bear-flesh, God-flesh, of blood spewing from gaping wounds, of crystals shattering beneath his power. Vérzés, sharing his bonded's dreams, hisses in delight from his perch in a nearby tree, his tail twining around a branch and constricting it as though it is the throat of an enemy. ""