[OOC: Apologies for having Myr 'see' in his previous post. :| My bizzle.]


Myrddin, was nearly about to leave the scene. This was not in his jurisdiction, and he found the stallion's commentary to be tiresome. He would certainly have to speak with Psyche one day about a more stringent recruiting process. He had already met both a mare and a stallion who were simply drenched in their own self pity; now this buffoon was simply refusing to answer the questions which surely would reveal his treason. Why did you bother staying...? Myrddin wondered absently. If this was treason, why did this youngling not run off with the DragonHeart? His charade was becoming less and less believable each moment he failed to answer his, and Psyche's questions.

Myrddin dismissed these thoughts with a weary shake of his ancient head - Psyche was in control of the situation; there was nothing for the sightless stag to contribute. Just as Myr was about to turn away, his senses fumbled together: he heard the sound of hooves on the hard Basin terrain, and a sudden intake of breath. Was that his? No - it couldn't be - for in that moment, all of the air in Myrddin's lungs was sharply exhaled as Xanthos's shoulder knocked into his with incredible precision and force. Had Myrddin had his sight, been younger, standing differently, or a number of other variables, he might not have fallen. However, given his age, posture, and sleepy-state, he did. His long legs crossed over one another in an effort to correct for the sudden shift in his center of gravity, but were not limber enough to sustain his weight. The arthritic serpent which lived in his old bones, hissed at the insistence of his mind demanding that his joints hold him up, and simply let go. His knees buckled under his own weight, as he crashed without grace into the ground. His eyes widened with fury, sightless gaze appearing strangely too wide with no pupil to focus on.

Myrddin grunted as he rolled back to his side, mentally checking himself to ensure that no bones were broken. There is a healer here, d'Art who heals all and only those stallions who do not heal themselves.. His mind echoed, replaying the riddle he had earlier given to Chernobyl to work through. Well, Myrddin certainly did not heal himself, and by rights, d'Art would heal him. At least, in the universe of the riddle - still he would need to seek out the Basin's doctor, and quickly. At his age, internal tears can have a devastatingly quick fatality rate.