Bitter crimson tears
_{flow from lifeless eyes}

Snow turned to grass, woodland turned to meadow and frigid cold turned to feverish heat. The pace was hard set, cloven hooves ate up the ground, stopping only when necessary to rest and regain lost energy. Following the Nightshade on his journey was a string of colourful blasphemes that started from the Basin’s narrow path all the way to the Throat’s border, the Worlds Edge was inflicting it’s retribution and he had to be sent south of all damnedest places. d’Artagnan hated the south! It was a land that, in his experience, seemed destined to be run by vertically challenged fowl with vulgar tongues and a leader who seemed more stallion than mare. The shade’s first war in Helovia had to be in that burning furnace of all places. Needless to say that any horse that had drifted near him along the way had been entertained (or not) by his wondrous knowledge of intricate swear words. As the Throat land began to appear before him he sighed and glanced behind him, his face an odd mixture of anger and worry. His two sons he worried less about, the frail hearted Edge would not harm two foals (or so d’Artagnan thought), it was Kou who made him sigh a long and lonely sigh. Last time he had watched as a prisoner as his herd went to war, as his Nurse went to war, this time it was the other way around. Fate liked keeping them apart at times of strife, or so it appeared.

The Nightshade walked past what looked like the beginnings of a wall, his gaze noticeably sharpening with curiosity and his maw curled into an amused half smile. So there really is more than just air between their ears he chuckled silently to himself, feeling another wave of amusement rolling off Aramis. You flatter them came the hounds rather harsh comment which sent his crimson bonded into bouts of dark ruckus laughter. Their mood significantly improving once minds turned to the task at hand. This arid region was not completely unknown to him, a few times he had ventured here both on his own accord and once as a war prisoner, though his delightful stay with the Ardent was spent with no sight whatsoever. Minimal at best was his knowledge of this land, but no matter, he would just have to make do. Skulking forwards he raised his maw to the air with devilry intent in his gaze. "This land now belongs to the Aurora Basin, unless one of you ladies would like to convince me otherwise."

His words dripped in taunts, knowing full well he wouldn’t get away with such a proclamation, he would be sorely disappointed if they laid down arms without a raising a hoof after all. It wasn’t a good fight without spilling some blood. Aramis paced in front of him, their minds connected through bond and recently they had been able to communicate with one another, a handy thing to discover and their companionship had deepened. The hound had been rather downcast over the past couple of seasons, the absence of Gods had reduced him to the average form of your everyday Doberman with extra fur, the fire in his belly taken from him. However, the prospect of a fight was rather exciting and Aramis had perked up along the journey from Basin to Throat. Under the silver gaze of she who was hated, the Nightshade and his guard awaited an answer to his challenge.

[wc: 590 | 0/4 rounds | 0/2 magic/companion
0/1 Herd Champs, extra magic. | BBs: Endure & Swift
--
Midnight & Cloudy.
Position: d’Artagnan is near the border, facing towards the Oasis.
Standard invasion dueling rules apply, magic/companions subject to SW plot.]