The moving fortress had been a magnificent sight to behold before it had fallen to the siege of the wicked. Dusted brown turrets had flowed with ease over tall stalks of grass that bowed in its wake; its pale golden belly had sailed high above the ground, and blocked out the view of all those souls running with terror beneath it. Ivory banners had stood out magnificently against the clouded blue sky, majestic strands of coal flapping relentlessly in the wind. It had been a proud structure, a force to be reckoned with, and it had been more than capable of withstanding countless armies, but like all great things, it too had its downfall. The sturdy castle had been on its way to reclaim the lands that had been wrested from its clutches, but it was no longer the powerful citadel that it had once been.


The dun-skinned brute continued his fast paced gallop across the windblown fields, his ears snapping forwards at the sound of pounding hooves. At first the tyrant had been expecting to see a welcoming party, or perhaps even his nephew, Jackal, upon his return to the realm, but the sensation of ever-growing tremors traveling up each of his laboring pillars immediately eliminated either of those options. Teal eyes widened in shock as they realized that those tremors -- and the sound of raging voices -- could only mean one thing; surely his nephew wouldn't have let the Dauntless remain in these lands, would he? There was no sense in hoping that the young abomination had been smart enough to reject such a proposal if it were ever to occur for, just as he had expected, Archibald and his little terror, Loretta, intercepted Ricochet's own path of flight, but he was not the only one to meet the buckskin at the border.

A wave of nostalgia washed over the quarter horse as he saw each fiend rise to make their threats, the horrendous wolf-beast that he had been trying to chase out so long ago included. Anxiety began to creep through the stallion as he noticed the hatred that was plain to see on all of their faces, and he wondered momentarily if it had been a smart idea to make a mad dash for home as he had just attempted. Perhaps if his impatience -- or eagerness, more like -- had not have gotten the best of him when conversing with the Foothills' crafter, then this undesired reunion would never have had to happen.

All was not lost, however, because it seemed that wolf-boy and tri-girl were more than capable of keeping their tempers in check, not to mention their play toys. A smirk crept across the tyrant's scarred lips at the thought of the Dauntless as a play thing. He knew full well that he was a dangerous adversary, but the idea of having him as an underling was just too amusing a thought for him to let slide.

Shuffling his feet with impatience as he listened to each of them make their threats, the quarter horse pinned his ears to his cranium and lashed his dark locks across his flank, barely noticing the crouched and hiding form of his gundog as he crept alongside his master. Rage had begun to build inside the brute's belly, threatening to take him over completely and let loose the words that he so desperately wanted to say, so instead the brute spat,

"I may be bitter, but at least I choose to remain loyal to my herd. Where is my nephew? Or did you choose to chase him out, too?" At the sound of the stallion's tone, Guns sat up from his crouched position and snarled at the white canine, adding more menace to the beast's words. With another stamp of his hooves, Ricochet swung his head upwards and stared into the mismatched eyes of the little princess, refusing to say another word until they brought the true ruler of this land before him.

{OOC: Sorry this is so incredibly late, I had zero muse to make this post. x.x I'm also still extremely busy, but I'll try to wrap this up soon.}
"Talk."