A grunt echoed around a damp looking cave full of strange looking plants and a mucky puppy curled into a tight ball to one side. Twitching now and then as he chased after something in a dream, a yip slipping out between velvet lips before ears twitched and gilded eyes opened. The cave was then lit up in a strange red hue as the pup jumped to all fours, the sound of a voice getting him excited. Cracked hooves clattered against the hard surface and d'Artagnan frowned as he left his cave, Aramis alongside him, slightly irritated he was being pulled away from his doze. Sharply the cold hit him and he sighed, recognizing the voice as belonging to Mauja's daughter, Sno. What did she want? It was unlike her to call out across the Basin like so. He shifted into a brisk trot, mumbling curses under his breath with the setting sun bleaching his coat even redder

The ground turned warm as he reached the hot springs and dual coloured gaze took in the battered form of Sno. For a few moments he enjoyed the irony, the filly who always seemed to carry herself as if better than others, crumpled and covered in her own blood. d'Artagnan wondered who she had run into to earn such injuries, she was still young but had seemed the type to be a warrior, like Aviya. Though d'Artagnan thought his daughter would make a much better fighter, in his own bias thoughts, her image in his head always brought him strength. The race of unicorns would be safe in her iron clad grip. He drew himself back to the present and sighed as he walked over to the little Sno.

"This isn't like you, who gave you these injuries?" As he said that he examined them with a lazy expression, it was the main role of the Time Mender yet the Nightshade found it profusely boring to simply stitch wounds back together. It was much more fun to create wounds. However, he was interested in Sno's reply, was her opponent worth noting? Or even so, was he/she worth killing? The latter question the only real thing that mattered to d'Artagnan, his hit list seemed to grow longer with each passing day. The latest added to his list was the armoured bastard who bore black and white splotches and a distinct scent of the Throat. Always the Throat. The bad blood he had with that land made his teeth set on edge.