“It’s no more,” says the pale maned thief who’d found them, and I don’t really have time to process what he’s said before everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

The mare shoots up the mountainside like a frightened rabbit, and her protector swells up and strikes out at Roland. With a shout of "The fuck!" as I move forward with all the more hurry, I wonder what sort of bird-brained nut jobs Toulouse has brought home. I’m about to add the rhetorical inquiry of “do they attack all welcoming parties where you’re from?” when the golden pelted spy chimes up for me, sweeping forward with what I’ve come to expect from him.

Sarcasm. I snort at the harsh sentiment, sort of agreeing. I don’t have time for this sort of… drama? Psychopathy? Still, I think, letting my eyes fall across their harried hides and forlorn faces, as the woman looks back like a frightened dove as her tender hurries after her, my racism hardened heart softens to their situation. I’d attacked Ashamin my first day back, too, and that had just been a bad day. They’d had, from appearance, anyway, the week from hell. I guess I can get being a bit… testy.

"Oh, leave him be, Toulouse," I sigh and laugh (you know, diffusion of the tense situation and all), looking over at the quiet fellow with a smirk, "Roland of all people understands what the love of a woman can make you do."

That amusement is short lived, replaced with the tension of the moment. If I look like I’m less than amused with this ordeal, maybe they’ll get it, too.

Stalking along with brooding silence at this point (to be honest, knowing my tongue probably is best kept away with tempers as they are), I keep glancing towards the passage into the valley for the return of Duir. Toulouse and the strange male both reassert to me that whatever had attacked them is dead or dealt with (what else does “no more” mean, really? Be more cryptic, please), and I nod, because, well, that’s good.

"Thank you for coming, Songbird," I greet with a nod, when the bay appears over the rise, instantaneously doing what three brutes could not; with the lilt of her healing voice, the warrior, at least, eases. A figure who has always been there for me, the healer is perhaps renowned across Helovia for her abilities, and I look over at Duir with a happy grin.

Good job, idiot, I tell him, earning a snort from the gold marked, lithe deer as he nervously approaches my rain-wetted sides.

Striking out together as soon as it seems appropriate to do so, I lead the way, not about to make the same mistake of trying to help anyone anytime soon. Keep up or fall down the mountain for all I care, I think, with the moody fluctuations that are becoming common to me the longer I put off dealing with emotions I’m better off not ignoring.

"There are two really big, metal unicorns in there, forewarning," I recall warily, glancing back at the two (thus far, anyway) paranoid pegasi with a golden gaze that is probably condemning, as much as it is trying to be helpful. Still oblivious to the language barrier (the fellow had answered in common, after all, accent or no), I plod on as if they both can understand me perfectly. "They can’t hurt you, or anyone, for that matter. To be honest, even you could probably push them over in the condition they are in, miss."

With a great stride of maturity, I withhold my joke, deciding that the gold and white stranger will probably take it the wrong way and bring in the punchline early, on the wrong person, but tell it to Duir, looking down at him with an amused smile as we walk: wouldn’t recommend it though, or I’d see to it someone pushed her over, too.

He rolls his eyes at me and hurries ahead, having had quite enough for the day.

[ OOC: how dare you try to skip me neverr i'm OFFENDED ]