One could say it was the blood lust that was rife in the air that dragged d'Artagnan across most of Helovia to find himself wondering amongst a rather smelly swamp. His sooty nose wrinkled as he recoiled from almost everything he scented around him, Aramis on the other hand, was quite interestingly enjoying himself in the stink fest. Glowing a dull shade of crimson as a pointed tail flicked from side to side, all you could hear was his quiet pads against the moist ground and the soft snuffling of his little nose as he investigated the marshes for the first time. The shade concentrated on the narrow path below his cloven feet, not wanting to stray too far to either side in case he took a deathly plunge into the revolting waters. It was a place you would imagine d'Artagnan to like, however, the Nightshade simply liked the idea of one in stories. The real thing, however, was rather less impressive.

He may have completely missed the presence of others if it wasn't for the sudden halt of his bonded, heckles rising along the pup's back as he lowered his youthful body and growled lowly. The Doctor's ears curved forwards and he carefully picked up his pace into a brisk trot, half watching his footing and half looking ahead of him. It wasn't long until he recognized the snapping voice of Alan and his face noticeably lit up in delight. Finally two figures came into place before him and suddenly the Nightshade fell to a halt, standing like a stature of both shock and anger at the sight of his sister.

Couldn't she just stay missing?

Really, d'Artagnan wouldn't of cared if she had died in a tragic accident. The shadowy mare who thought she was so smart, he smirks and her infuriating looks of pity she always threw at him. Like he was nothing more than a piece of dirt, as if she was something better. Something to behold. He lowered his head and glowered at her through mismatched eyes of hate, just her dappled form annoyed him. Daddy's little angel who could do nothing wrong. She had even fooled him, though the Nightshade had yet to learn to what extent. "A distasteful place for a distasteful mare. Why hello sister dear" he spoke with huge volumes of sarcasm, moving as close to Alan as the little path would allow. Looking critically at the bush she'd shoved herself into, before raising a brow at the bay mare and choosing to forget the more humorous sarcastic comment that entered his head.

No. Not with her here, it seemed that whenever his sister was around she always drained the life and soul out of a place. At least, in d'Artagnan's opinion of her.