d'Artagnan grunted and scowled at the backend of Giselle as she darted off into the Basin. His muscles protested at the sudden motion of galloping, the Nightshade wasn't really too fond of galloping hence the blood pelted stallion rarely exerted his body in such a way. Nine years old wasn't really all that old, but in d'Artagnan's eyes, it was damn well old enough. Next season his age would stretch to double figures and all he could do was constantly think about that doddering old blight Myrddin. If he ever became like that the shade would make sure to go find that harsh cliff in the misty lands and throw himself off it.

He sucked in a short, annoyed breath and slammed his hooves into the ground, bringing his wild pace to an ungraceful halt. Still frowning at Giselle's behind. What the hell was the matter with her? Had the idiots in the Threshold got to her? The Mender had come to accept that most would not follow him from the Threshold by now, only a select few had the intelligence to see past his harsh demeanour. Arah for example.

Breathing out a longer more exasperated breath, d'Artagnan moved around Giselle to try and stand directly in front of her, for his mismatched eyes to meet hers and gaze into the face that was laced in anger. Something really had pissed her off and d'Artagnan's face kept flickering between amused and questionable. Though he knew very little of the mare herself, he did know that expression, that feeling of annoyance and hate. It was strangely rather refreshing to him, forever surrounded by ass lickers and scared babies he found it nice to finally look upon a face that burned with passion. A dark smile played upon his lips as he twisted his head to one side and regarded her with cold amusement, "what's eating you?" He asked simply, eyes glimmering in curiosity. The sides of the Nightshade were heaving from the gallop, it was no simple journey to the Basin when one considers the white wastes that lead to it. The snow was not quite as deep and treacherous as Frostfall, but it was there still and certainly not easy to gallop in. It was even more reason to wonder, had anger drove Giselle to run so far at such a pace? Maybe he would find out in the next few minutes.

A gentle breeze picked up his charred mane, waving something purple that hung limply around his neck. A hurtful memory that needed to be released, cast aside and forgotten forever. Yet, that time was not now and d'Artagnan ignored it's presence as it danced with the wind.