You're busy dying if you're living in the past

There are times in which Crowley often wondered, 'why the hell did I just do that?' This was one of them.

The moment that his horn so much as grazed the tar, it jumped to life, taking ahold of the keratin that twisted from his head. Instinctively the Weaver jerked back in an attempt to free himself from whatever this tar was, but it all seemed in vain. Before he could even make an attempt to comprehend what was going on, the tar had begun to form all around him, covering his body and everything else around him.

Talbot let loose a terrified yelp, scrambling back and out of the way of his master's frantic hooves, somehow unharmed and unaffected by both him and the strange mess that had suddenly exploded into action. But after his safety had been assured, Talbot realized just what was happening to the stallion and felt his hackles raise once more. With the most fierce growl he could manage, the Hellhound snarled and barked at the darkness that threatened to take his beloved Crowley away, but almost as quickly as the noises left his throat, the stallion was gone. The world slowly shifted back into it's normal form; the sky was the sky again, full of darkness but lit up by an ocean of stars. Beneath him was grass again, soft and familiar under his paws. But none of this mattered to the young hound anymore; Crowley was nowhere to be seen, and Talbot hadn't a clue what had become of him. Would he return? Was he still alive? At the realization of being truly alone in the middle of the field, Talbot gave a pitiful whine, and slowly sank into the grasses to investigate the spot where his master had last stood.

Meanwhile, below the very earth in which he had previous stood, Crowley was falling further and further with every passing second. His golden eyes were wide, the whites flashing as he thrashed to try and fight the tar away. It was useless though, for it seemed every little movement simply produced more and more of the sickeningly thick tar. It compressed his body with an intense pressure, wrapping about every curve of his body and threatening to steal away everything he had left. When he could manage, his breaths came in gasps, but it was growing more and more difficult to catch an ounce of air with every inch he descended. His vision was quickly fading, clouded by sheer darkness until there was nothing but. Within his broad chest his heart pumped rapidly, fueled by pure fear as he fell helplessly. Every fiber of his being ached and burned with the intensity of fire, or maybe worse; he wasn't sure. Blindly throwing his head back, the Weaver gave an agonizing scream, one that surely echoed those he had caused pain to in the past.

But just as Crowley began to wonder if this truly was his end, the last few painful moments of his life, the most peculiar thing happened. He landed.

Crowley wouldn't admit it, but he was fearful to opening his eyes. After a few moments, however, he did just that, giving himself a brief check. Beneath him still stood four straight, unbroken legs. His heart still beat like a crazed drum in his chest, and his eyes still shone with fear nestled in their golden depths. Taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves and recollect himself, the Weaver tried to process what had just happened, but he could make nothing of it. Where had Talbot gone? Had he been taken away by the tar, was he safe? Or had he been left in the darkness he now associated with the Heavenly Fields? Crowley hoped dearly that the pup was safe and would be able to return to the Basin unharmed, and alert somebody of what had happened.

As he finally lifted his head to take in his new surroundings, Crowley not only found himself in the confines of an unknown cavern, but also the shadowy face of his daughter. His breath hitched momentarily, as if uncertain if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Had the same thing happened to her? Was it really even her? As she turned and galloped off into the depths of the cavern, Crowley found that he couldn't take the chance. "Rhiannon!" He called out, "Nonnie, please..." But his words seemed to have no immediate affect.

With another deep breath, the Weaver wasted no time in following after the shaded apparition of his daughter, legs still trembling but able to withstand movement as they carried him into the perpetual darkness.