d'Artagnan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Relieved to finally be free of the Throat herd that he was convinced was full of small creatures with even smaller minds. On the other hand he was a little dissatisfied that he couldn't stick around to ram his toxic horn into the flesh of his mightily annoying guard and her too smug General. He looked towards the direction of the Edge and calculated the amount of time it would take him to reach it. The brute knew it would be foolish to return back there but still... It was tempting with his temperature running higher than it's normal high. There was another thing too. The magic once bestowed upon him by the Moon had now left him and d'Artagnan felt like he had been robbed of something precious. Sooty legs marched across the terrain that slowly turned into snow as the Arch appeared before him.

The shade stopped and stood in silence for a moment. Beyond here lie what was left of the herd he had been part of from it's very beginning. Their numbers had risen at a healthy rate but... What was left of it now? He knew Lena and Alan were still alive and they had said nothing of Kou so it would be safe to assume she was okay. His Nurse popped into his mind, would the teaching still go on after this? Yes. Kou was the only one he trusted enough to carry the knowledge he possessed. In time, maybe his children would know too. The wind whistled and ran wild against his merlot fur and the white snow moaned beneath his cloven hooves.

Many revengeful ideas had already invaded his mind, all irrational. If d'Artagnan hated any emotion violently then it was the feeling of defeat and looking completely lost. Though he wasn't completely helpless, the knowledge gifted by the gentle Earth had secured he would always have something his enemy knew nothing of. Poison seemed to be his only haven, not that he ever complained. It was a splendid haven. He had washed the toxic liquid from his horn by wiping it on the nearby foliage upon his way out from the Throat. Who knows, maybe he might get lucky one day and some idiot would eat it.

A snort, short and speaking volumes of held back anger spat from his nostrils. Whilst others carried battle wounds and were weary from fighting, the Nightshade had little a scratch on him and was as fresh as a young stallion. It was time to go help pick up the pieces and meld them into something unbreakable.