It was, as most of the days seemed to be this season, rather hot. Sweat rolled between d’Artagnan’s legs and his mane stuck to him in all sorts of annoying ways, even his bag slid occasionally from the damp forming underneath. The Doctor had ambled down the mountain only to wish that he’d stayed up there and rubbed his body against the frozen archway for a while. Aramis seemed little affected by the weather and bounced along in front as always, he was a fire breather after all so heat was little problem to this hound. Now and then, the hellion would turn and smirk at his labouring friend, enjoying the levels of grump as he went up the scale the hotter he got. ”You’re not too cold are you?” came the dog’s snickering voice into the irritated vaults of the shade’s warped mind as flames flickered around his chops as if to put an emphasis on it. d’Artagnan frowned and marched off in a different direction like an offended diva, not offering the hound an answer in a charade of overworked irritation. Aramis followed after regardless, a line of humour set jovially onto his lips.

They wandered the threshold for a while, looking for lost souls to tempt or torment, the Doctor’s eye often straying from one interesting looking plant to another. His poison stores always had room for more after all and how long had it been since he’d experimented on anything? Far too long! The shade quickly made that the main point in his agenda for when he returned north. Who knows, maybe he’ll find an interesting specimen to play with on his way back. Some he recognized from the Earth God’s prize of knowledge and others he didn’t, those most likely did nothing at all or had more healing value. He wrinkled his nose up at them and shook his head, wanting something more exciting. The odd pair continued like this until a voice drifted into his ears and Aramis shot a glance in its direction.

d’Artagnan frowned and followed it. Wondering who would be calling the Basin in the Threshold, someone who wasn’t new that was certainly one thing he could glean. When the Nightshade arrived the stallion before him did seem… Familiar in an odd way. Like he may have seen him in some herd meeting or in passing. He was a thick boned lad; the second one he’d seen recently and he moved with all the power that large body would surely grant him. He was not quite as tall as the Doctor, however, and sported only one horn but one would do. One marked him kin. "What about the Basin sisters?" the blood bay laughed as he moved to try stand in front of the beast and Aramis leant back onto his haunches, tail curling around his body. "Any reason why you’re calling the male population of the north?"

d’Artagnan recognized Rhiannon quite easily, the girl looked similar to her father in appearance… the old Weaver Crowley. The shade had not seen the sod in some time and he found himself wondering where he was with a yearning for a good old chat with an even older herd mate. It seemed the filly had grown considerably since last he saw her and in more ways than one. The pleasurable tones in her voice sent an uneasy shiver up his spine. Wasn’t this girl just a foal a few weeks ago? It made him rather scared for her future as that alluring tongue would only learn new tricks. He returned her nod with a friendly smile "If I said no would you listen to me anyway?" The Doctor chuckled with his gravely voice. He suspected she did not get her vibrant seeming words from her father anyway, at least, not from what he had last seen of Crowley. Who knew, if the time he shade hadn’t seen him the brindled guy might have gained an extensive vocabulary.

Moving on, she seemed to know the stallion and her voice uttered the name ”Crash”. However, as the girl hurtled on with her revelation, d’Artagnan noticed the stallion eyeing him as she spoke. Did he not remember her? The thought struck an amused cord within him and he had to try mightily hard to stifle a laugh at the prospective situation. Apparently one made more impression than the other. The Mender met his gaze steadily before raising a brow and shrugged a little. d’Artagnan would rather watch the poor lad squirm trying to recall her from his past rather than relieve him. It might not even be the case and, as usual, the blood bay was jumping to conclusions.

"Oh I don’t know, what do you think Rhiannon? Should we take him home with us? He looks a bit shabby" he looked the stallion up and down with exaggerated observation as he pretended to despair over him. The charade lasted a little while longer as he waited for the filly to reply before he laughed and gave the rouse away. "Well if you’re willing to fight to the end I suppose we can’t say no really" he flicked his tail and Aramis rolled his eyes, but the shade was already thundering on and quite enjoying himself. His gaze seemed to glitter in realization as if something had just come to him "oh! We’ve never really met have we, I’m d’Artagnan and the hound is Aramis".


@[Rhiannon]