As if composed of naught but darkness, Toulouse took his place among the pine and shadow the underside of the mountain provided. From his outpost, now made up of a hearty, warm cave and a ledge from which to view the valley, the view granted him the unmistakable figures of the blood-stained doctor and that sad excuse of a specter treading their way through the arch. Furrowing his brows, Toulouse wondered if it was common for Raeden to invite herself in to places they did not belong. The fact that Sacre accompanied her, and as well as two strangers he did not recognise calmed him ever so slightly, but surely they'd had enough Edge visits for the season.

Collecting his cloak, the iridescent mithril cloth of mithril mail, strapping it over his chest, Toulouse was soon on his way to intercept the incoming edge party. He knew he would not be the first responder - the basin had an overwhelming amount of eyes, always watching from every single crack and crevasse imaginable. Surely enough by the time he had descended the mountain and tread upon a last few eastern hillocks, a small gathering was growing under the sentinels. The serpent approached from the east, cloaked by the shadow of the mountain and hidden by his own calculation having chosen to approach the edge trio from behind.

Upon his approach, he heard the insufferable voice of the woman he did not hate, simply could hardly bare to listen to... or even look upon. From her peach-coloured hide to the comical colours in her horn, Toulouse would never hate Raeden as she hated him - he simply cared far, far too little about her for such a strong feeling.
Now do not be silly, you precious crown is safe upon your head.
Toulouse was struck for a short moment, wondering what on earth the poor darling was on about; The Lord hadn't even spoken to her and yet she felt the need to pipe up with that?
While his greeting for Rikyn was best saved, the silent sleuth's gaze crossed to Weaver with a nod of acknowledgement, all the while hoping his herd-sister would not take offence to the grave, disgruntled expression struck upon his face.
"I am sorry I got off topic. We are here for a quest. If you would be willing to help us."

The pale one had approached.
His muzzle outstretched towards the peach-coloured mare, aiming to brush his lips over the scars he had inflicted upon her a number of months prior as he strolled past. Flicking his crimped tail in her direction, praying it would cover her face, the gelding ambled towards his King and Lord, the Puppeteer. While he certainly had no quarrel with the Moon doctor, nor the strange doe who stood with him, there was a great agitation that arose when someone like Raeden felt as though she could scold their Lord.
Standing protectively beside the Lord and the corporal, a herd-sister he was coming to grow fond of just by watching her comings and goings, the pale sleuth spoke.
"My Lord Rikyn," He spoke gracefully "Would you not agree that we are always happy to help our friends?"
Turning his gaze to Raeden, the male continued.
"Of course we are. And yet, So far it seems that this poor unlikely team of edge-folk have naught to offer us but a snide, scolding remark from their Specter. How disappointing. Why should we help them when we have been treated like this, my lord?" Craning his head over both the unfamiliar mares then to Sacre, his words continued. "Forgive me Doctor, Ladies, for the crime was committed not as a team but by a rogue offender. The three of you I must exclude from this, and as a phantom of the Basin you have my welcome"