It's your turn to answer to the call of Asylum. You've been back by the water, gathering your plants that you need so desperately when the sugary sweet call of the Phantom Seeker (your Phantom Seeker? You would never dare whisper such words aloud, but you've taken something of a fancy to her after she delivered you drugs on your death bed). You know now why Pretty Boy was so taken with her. She is Helen of Troy. All the world would go to war, if only she asked for it. And so you come to her, because she speaks, and you want to hang off every syrupy syllable. She is your new drug, perhaps.

You do not know the story of Confutatis, but you learn it now as you come alongside the Phantom Seeker, perhaps an inch too close. Your dirty, muddy, uncared-for mess of a hide is nothing compared to the beauty that she radiates. Even if she were to roll in the mud of the Swamp for hours and not bathe she would win the hearts of knights all around. You try to steel yours against her. It is only lust, you remind yourself. Lust for her smooth, dripping nectar of a voice. But you listen anyways. Lust is a drug as powerful as any plant.

And the girl runs on, her words a rallying war cry for the residents of the Asylum. And she threatens then to challenge the traitor woman if she beats Rose Red. You can't help yourself. You reach out with your half-drugged nose to try and touch her shoulder, if she will let you. You are not worthy of what you reach for, but you do it anyways. “You will not challenge her, but I will.” Even your murmur is loud, your booming body not knowing what a whisper is. Do you try to be the Phantom Seeker's knight in shining armor? Perhaps. But you can justify it. You are the Asylum's warrior. This is your job. You must fight for them.

As she explodes in fury, her words culminating in a victorious cry, you can't help but waver slightly on your hooves. But you are mostly present. The Doctor did her job well. Your burns have healed. Only fur remains to grow in, to cover the scars. But you don't mind if it doesn't. Just for good measure, as Confutatis tries to reason with Rose Red, you throw out your own little addition. You're not general, not yet, but you have faith you will be. “I won't have her as warrior, Rose Red. Even if you take her in.” But somehow you know that Eris won't fall to the woman's guile anyway. It is more a warning to Confutatis. Fight if you think you must, win if the gods will let you, but even if she enters the herd she will not call herself one of your warriors. You will see her die before then.