d'Artagnan laid dual eyes on the landscape before him. It's tough tundra, looming mountains and warm caves. A perfect land for the former Edge and Plague. For racists alike who shared the same ideals of a unicorn dominance, there were of course those who remained here and said little. These faces the shade didn't know too well, didn't know what they wanted and it was on this day that the Nightshade came to look up Xanthos. The stallion who had enough skill to steal the leader of the World's Edge, Mirage the Dragon Heart. Intriguing he hadn't heard of him more as the shade took another right turn and headed towards the cave in which the buckskin steed held his captive prisoner. Folds of mane coloured in pitch hung in wild clumps on a blood stained coat, a lone silver marking filling his flanks in a series of moons. A reminder of Mesec, a demi-god, who he hadn't seen in a while. It made him wonder if his son had gone to find his mother, and if he had reached the Basin yet. Who knew, the boy was the child of a God and so his power was unmatched. d'Artagnan needn't worry about him as much as he did Aviya, who had already made herself at home in their new land. Kou keeping a watchful eye on her.

Hooves cracked in tradition of an old species splashed through melting snow, his pace like that of a stalking predator as he made himself known to the pair before him. Pools looked at Mirage, had he ever seen her before? Or was this the first time. No. There was one time in the madness of the Sun when she came in help, and little did they know what she was really plotting. Those with a head so pitifully bare could not be trusted, this mare of shadows more than proved his opinion. Her golden dragon seemed too interested in a hawk, hungry maybe? The shade cared little in the way of dragons, perhaps foolishly so.

"Xanthos. A skill to be honoured indeed, well done in capturing our enemies lead." He praised the other stallion in his gruff, brusque tones. Psyche surely would be happy with him, but she was not here to to revel in their success. Instead d'Artagnan conveyed the gratitude in her stead, fitting into his title as Time Mender like one put on an old boot. The magic was different but the meaning was the same, heal your comrades and poison your enemies. Simplicity was always pleasing.