The intruder continued to prove his worthlessness, lying amongst the frosty ground in silent, serene repose, fixated and staying in his strangled, smothered, inert state. The notion to simply end the trespasser, watch as his form was stolen of all breath, of all existence, of all presence, robbed, absconded, entombed by ice and shards of contempt, crossed over his mind, remained a tempting idea. He’d be allowed to rot, wither and decay in the chilling Siberia, clawed and picked over by roaming scavengers, a vultures’ dream, bones bleached, dried, acrid and as inane as his actions, a constant reminder of stupidity allowed to desecrate their kingdom, ravaged and pillaged until his heart ceased its ignorant beating. A skeleton of the decrepit, of the ineffectual, of the fatuous, of the asinine, rubble and ruin conformed to eternity in their relentless, merciless labyrinth: a threshold, an empire secured, distorted, and still notoriously savage. Arah’s agreement with his prior plan was the idiot’s only salvation, and he spent the next few moments expanding the solution within his barbaric mind. Stepping toward the fallen creature, precise, supreme, dominating, bestial, ferocious and unwinding, he towered over its forlorn form, and even now, considered how easily it would to crush its skull. One raised hoof, one puncturing, lacerating bout of power, one simmering, seething motion, and the execution would be complete – but then he saw Loth, flickering on the sidelines, too young, too vibrant, too innocent to be fully initiated into the hellhole of their designs. The scheme filtered away with a discontent sigh, and he lowered his cranium to study their quarry. A smooth command flowed from his scathing lips, followed by a gesture of his heathen head towards the Impersonator. “The tail.” He started near the interloper’s crest, ensnaring his ivory dentals around a massive hunk of mane (if any were pulled in the movement, he didn’t care), waiting for Arah’s stance and position before advancing, tugging, heaving and tugging towards the borders. With any luck, the collapsed form would send a message to passerbys – they were not to be underestimated, time and time again, over and over, that their merciless contortions would continue to erupt, boil over, seethe and simmer until their abilities, motives and power was recognized. Those that trifled with the Basin learned to regret their exploits, for their icy world, their frozen kingdom, their glacial, unfaltering sovereignty, failed to forgive or forget.