The more you walk, the more your hoofprints are dissolving and becoming a difficult trail to follow. One step becomes three, seven, ten before you find another one. In fact, you're beginning to resign yourself to the fact that you might end up wandering around in the snow forever, never to conquer the Golden Asshole and the Glass Horn, never to take wrest their thrones from under their hooves and plant a crown atop your head. Never to call yourself Oxy, the General. It's an unfortunately dramatic side effects of your drugs. Still, better to be high than face reality.

The sudden appearance of a red hound creature, however, causes your previously calm demeanor. You explode into a sort of overly-chaotic response to her appearance, throwing your head up and half rearing. A stupid scream falls from yours lips, displaying to the world that you are nothing more than a skinny fool hidden within the frame of a Shire. Landing back on the ground, you throw her a suspicious glare before redirecting your attention to her crimson counterpart- a vaguely familiar unicorn that you can't exactly place.

Until he speaks.

“What the hell is it with you and bags?” you respond curtly, choosing to entirely ignore his question until you realize that he may be your only chance at salvation from this unforgiving terrain. “Is there some secret to finding the exit?” It's an almost coherent thought. You go with it.

As for your near-invisible black wisp of a companion, she is entirely interested in the hellhound that caused you such a surprise. Floating down towards him, she tries to whisk about his muzzle and tickle the whiskers that protrude from it. You are rather certain that she is just asking to be bit so, in the true fashion of a stallion that does not give one flying fuck about her health, you let her flap around her doom. Better for you if she gets destroyed, you imagine. She's littler more than a nuisance anyways.

@[d'Artagnan]

Had you not been so busy flailing and throwing yourself around like a fool you might have noticed the glow of the hellhound as she called upon the magic of the gods. You might have noticed the crimson glow that signaled your impending doom, might have noticed that the Time Mender stepped to save you before you became little more than fried Oxy- a snack for a dog on the frozen tundra. You might have noticed many of these things, but you did not, and you cannot be grateful for a gift you do not know you have received. Indeed, it is only the strange words of the Nightshade that clue you in at all to anything amiss. Dead meat? You raise your brow as you look upon them, as if to imply that neither of them could actually reduce you to charred flesh devoid of life, but you are not exactly certain of your convictions. Beware a man who talks about you as if you are not around when you stand directly in his presence... It is not an adage you have found useful very often, but you believe that when you have found it useful that it has been instrumental in your continued survival. So you lower your brow and try to adopt a more neutral expression... at least until you can gain a further understanding of this crimson beast and his carnivorous companon.

“A cliff would be less than desirable right now,” you respond to him plainly, as though his suggestion were not sarcastic and he was simply an idiot, “Except perhaps to push you off of.” Okay... So you're probably asking for trouble after you decided to play nice, but playing nice has never been your forte. You can't just let him get away with being a royal pain in the ass and do nothing about it. You don't care what high and mighty throne he fell off of. Even the greatest of kings can be made to bow, given the right circumstances, so you're not too concerned. And even if you're not really in the best position to be making stupid comments right now, it could always be much worse.

But ah, another curious citizen of Helovia, doing their good civil service by asking what you're doing here. Everybody seems awful interested in your business lately. “Everyone wants to know, but what does it matter when nobody gives a fuck about the answer?” Eloquent, classy, efficiently stating your disdain while simultaneously insulting the Time Mender... yes, it's perfect. Your brown eyes look up to meet him challengingly but not defiantly. You are hedging somewhere between interest and dislike for this monster, which is never an ideal location to hover. It is much better to understand and know who are your enemies and who are not, but it seems you will have to wait a moment longer to find out. While you wait, you grab a locoweed vine from your shoulder bag and begin to chew on it. It's never hurt before.

As for your companion, her near-invisible form is grazed by the teeth of the hellhound (serves her right) and she instantly retaliates to the pain. What does the hellhound fear most? You may have just met him, but it seems to be an innate ability of the Boggart to know these things. You have found her to be very accurate. So, although she is little more than a pest in your eyes, you eagerly hope to see some sort of reaction from the beast or his dog. The boggart's body begins to morph and you look down, curious as to what miniature form she will take this time.

@[d'Artagnan]- feel free to control what his boggart morphs into ^.^