Word of a patrol had spread quickly, and Toulouse was certianly not one to miss out on a journey - Especially not one involving the company of his new herd-brothers  and dear sisters.
In the past days he had come to learn that Basin folk were a hardy kind. They did not tarry, they did not pause, and they certainly didn't seem to stop to bask in the short amount of sun they got. Toulouse had all the reason to fear his comrades, for they were of the toughest stock and blood thier continent had to offer. The Dragon's Throat had their island, their horrid border protection and jeweled sycophants, though it seemed the Basin had one thing that his former home and the land of the warriors lacked; True, hard grit.

The Phantom and his bonded travelled south-west in the direction of the land they had last called home, though were quite happy to wave it by. It was a dreadful place in the eyes of the sneak; one full of far too many dictators and hypocrites, and he certainly was glad that he wasn't returning.
Though his mind did drift to the ballerina who dwelt in the treeline once or twice, it was something he tried his damnedest not to think about. His affection for Manon was a weakness, not a strength, even if it was platonic for the most part.

When his pale footfalls sounded among the creak and thwack of dead tree limbs dancing upon the wind, Toulouse knew he had made it to that horrid marsh. He had seen death here, as many people before him had.
He could still remember watching Nyx being thrown like a pebble from the jaws of that ungodly creature and could recall witnessing as her brittle body was left to the mercy of the ground and gravity.

Treading gingerly upon the only even ground he could find, taking care not to disturb the water, It felt like far too long that Toulouse walked in these haunted marhses. His footfalls became whispers, eatch flutter of wren wings became a laugh, and all too soon he began wondering if he was being watched.
Turning tail, attempting to wander back the way he had come, Toulouse soon found himself following a totally different set of hoofprints; a whole group. They were fresh; not worn, nor were they corroded by weather. And finally, came real voices. The boom of the general (who he did not yet know the name of), was first heard just past the tree line, and as he stepped into the same clearing he eyed yet another dark fellow; this one had been promoted at the meeting.
The vixen he next observed had also been promoted - a corporal.
"General, Corporal" He nodded in the direction of both the grey and the winged woman, then send another nod of aknowledgement towards the man he knew only as a desciple.