'Aide le,' she had bleated, her voice so soft yet words so... haunting. A blank, bewitched stare fell upon the pale gelding's countenance, the kind that onemight assume he had been struck by some odd magic. Those words; those two filipendulous words, carried upon them naught but failure and the memories of all he'd wished to forget. Loss, war, a fall. Help him, help them, help me. Never until now had he heard them repeated in the language in which they had originally been screamed, the recollection causing a casade of vivid scenes both memory and nightmares to wash right over all thought, all the while keeping his pale eyes affixed upon those of the angelic mare.
Luckily for Toulouse, the doctor recruited by the draconic mare was swift and calculating, managing to pluck both victims from the cliffside of the abyss. It seemed his help, whatever that might be, was not needed. The pale one's healing expertise ranged as far as a number of common herbs sung about in T'detan nursery rhymes, and the effectiveness of which had not once been trialled on by even himself.

Regrettably the gelding turned his eyes away from the mare who had pleaded for his aid, though truthfully, it seemed she put far too much faith in him and not in the others present. Should she need protection, information gathered, something stolen, something returned, or perhaps an entire herd infiltrated, she had found the right man. To administer life-saving first aid? Certainly not.

Instead, the man turned to the fallen assailant, intent on continuing the post-mortem. Any information gathered from this beast would be most valuable, specifically anything hinting as to why on earth a tiger was in the threshold.  His hoof stepping once again underneath the sweaty, cooling ribs of the lifeless savage, Toulouse heaved the carcass over in one great shovelling push. In oder to inspect the opposite side, Boomslang peeled himself out from under the newly-flopped cadaver and slinked his way into the mouth of the beast, inspecting the blood and gore that remained within. The phantom's own keen gaze scoured the striped cat's pelt, maw twisting into a pouting frown as his eyes glazed over. Nothing; just stripes. A plain tiger it seemed. Or- wait,
One stripe was not like the others at all. Discoloured, rugged, hairless, misshapen; the shape of a dragon? A brand.

Brows arching, his chin craning back towards his breast, the stag pondered where the monster could have hailed from and what kind of organisation could have sent it. Whatever it was, it was not from these lands.
Nose turning back in the direction of the recovering victims (now, apparently it was three given the state of the doctor) Toulouse finally adressed them. "It is branded" He boomed, eyes twitching over the pair "But you must rest," He corrected himself, turning once more upon his hocks and walking to the very edge of the glade to gaze out at the forest, the mountains beyond, and the new country the two outsiders had found themselves in. "I will stand watch while you rest. When you have recovered some of your strength I can escort you to my herd in the north". As he spoke this, his eyes hardly trained away from the watch he had now commenced, eyes fixed upon the threatening wilderness.
And so his watch began.