Myrddin felt trapped; caged.

It was an interesting thing, to be able to rationalize an emotion, and yet at the same time be helpless to control your reactions to it. For instance, Myrddin understood that the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia he was currently experiencing, was simply a product of his mind retaliating against his blindness. The walls were not caving in around him, and yet he still felt cramped even in his cave, alongside his precious mirror. Broken mirror, he thought with annoyance. Since he left the boy-king alone with Psyche the day he had stepped through time and broken Myrddin's mirror, the old white stag had not yet had the chance to properly reprimand the boy. But he would - the mirror still remained broken, and for that, Myrddin was displeased. Still, that had nothing to do with the feeling that the world around him was being condescended somehow. At first it had been no more than an itch in the back of the old philosopher's mind; a gentle but insistent tugging. Yet as the days went by and Myrddin remained visually blocked from the world, the itch became an open wound, festering and pulsating with a sickly infection that was beginning to take over. And so, Myrddin had done something he hadn't yet: He went into the grey.

Myrddin had created a fairly accurate mental map of the Aurora Basin, and although blind, he could move about quite easily, only really bumping into living objects which were not permanent members of his mapping. His mapping even extended into the Frostbreath Steppe with impressive accuracy, yet the Arch, was a different matter entirely. If you could see what Myrddin's mind created, it would look like the world around him had been dumbed down extensively, and coloured in with only shades of black and white. Yet it seemed to…glitch, when it came to the Arch. It was almost as if this part was simply incomplete - which in fact, it was. It was a haze of grey, with a few distinguishes features, but as the white creature entered the Arch, he literally was in the dark.

Moving with the slowness of age, the ancient creature gradually made his way forward, carefully placing his steps so as not to fall on the ice. The cold actually did his old bones good - he had terrible arthritis, which he unaffectionately thought of as a giant snake, who lived in his joints. The snake seemed to freeze when Myr exposed himself to extreme temperatures, and although it painfully numbed the rest of him as well, at least his joints were soothed for a time. And so, the pale stallion moved into the grey.