It had been a long and rather interesting day. d'Artagnan was travelling back from the fateful Heavenly Fields and found himself wandering through the Threshold. Aramis was by his side and had now cleaned the blood from his coat and paws, the red markings that littered his body ceased glowing. The pair returned to their stalking gait and senses were on high alert as they crossed the claiming grounds. Many strangers came here as well as horses from other herds, a wise horse walked through these woods with his body well tuned for action. It was rare for the Nightshade to bother with the Threshold, most of the time he stayed up in the mountains, but when he did venture down the crimson Doctor did try to make a point of drifting through the woodland that he had mixed experiences with. It was a given that most would see him, his face, hear his voice and immediately turn his offer away. d'Artagnan found that mildly irritating and was the main reason he never bothered with the Threshold.

Following the hoof prints of another through a section of the wood, he thought back to his time in the fields and smiled. It was just like the other foolish paint mare he had killed, they both just had the unlucky business of running into him in a rather bad mood. Though it was becoming apparent to d'Artagnan that his unpredictable madness was more often taking over his senses, it seemed that the older he got the more he lost his grip on reality. How long would it take before he well and truly slipped into insanity. He surprised himself when he thought about it and his mind flinched away, did he really want to live like a raving idiot who foamed at the mouth and drank the blood of others? Parts of that life seemed appealing yet, would there come a day when he couldn't control it? What if Kou got in the way or one of his children ... He shuddered physically at that thought and pushed it away from his mind. It was something to consider later, not now.

Sighing, he continued onwards until Aramis began to growl and he noticed the monochrome mare for the first time. Her face as white as snow and a set of horns crowning the top of her head making her race the same as his own. Attempting to summon an appearance of a smile, or grimace in the Mender's case, the pair walked over to her and stopped a few paces away. Head tilting to one side as his mane was whipped around in the wind. "Do you have a purpose for being here sister, or are you simply lost?" He asked in his gruff tones.