Aye, home.

d’Artagnan watched the broad smile stretch across her face with a nod of satisfaction. Yes, this place was lovely and cold and bleak. Perfect perhaps for raising their hoard of horned brethren. They weren’t alone, however, and creeping out from the shadows was a colt that the Mender almost mistook for Sacre until he looked at the boy harder. They had the same kind of black and red markings though this one was different in other ways that made him not his son. He was too young for a start and Brisé asked the question of responsibility, but the Nightshade knew from past experience that foals often wandered and explored, that was the way of kids after all wasn’t it? Whilst the parent floundered around looking for the child they had suddenly misplaced or not floundering at all, if you were the irresponsible clod like the Doctor himself. For example, where on earth was Raéru?!

The shade offered the boy a firm nod, he hadn’t seen this sapling around before, but the machinery remained unmoving, so he must be a son of the Basin. ”You keeping an eye out for enemies, young ‘un?” He asked with a nod to the horizon followed by a snort ”best not let any hornless nearby” he spat. There had already been too many hybrids let onto his turf, he didn’t want anymore tainted blood thinking they could just walk in and all over their territory. Aramis grunted his approval and slapped his tail to the side before trotting off to hunt, leaving the unicorns to converse without him.

Turning back to his new recruit, the Mender tilted his head to one side, a question in his gaze. ”So, what talents do you have? So I might know the rank you might take” looking at her he almost wanted to say spy, she kept herself and her secrets well guarded after all. Soldier perhaps, but not healer, unless she wanted to join the warped kind with him. When was the last time he'd actually patched up a wound? Was it that time he was guarding Valentine? When he had tortured the traitorous stud by cutting him then healing him, before repeating. Maybe there were times closer than that, but in pure Nightshade style, that was the one he remembered so clearly. The Plague Doctor. He was sure that there were many of his herd that would much prefer the gentle hand of Lena than the blunt touch of his own magic.

Feeling the urge and not really caring for the after effects, d'Artagnan reached into his pouch and took out a Toadstool Lantern. He waited for the conversation to continue whilst chewing on the psychedelic fungi.

[Sorry for the wait!!!]