Never ceases to amaze...

Storm shook his head with a smirk at the report offered by his old friend. Shinsou's abilities were far more diverse than his own, and far more difficult to wrap his head around. How in the gods' names the Telgradian could serve as a sort of cosmic bloodhound was totally mystifying, however Veritas had learned long ago that doubting the wisdom of Vaan Osiris was a fool's errand. Besides, he welcomed a little reprieve from these horrors, as the rain beat down upon them because of course it had to rain.

His gaze found once more his massive horse Attila, who stood idly in the wreckage as his hooves were being coated with a thick cream of watered ash bespeckled with dried blood. The horrifying nail polish seemed to put a point on the normally ornery beast, who stood tall, alert, and bothered. Rubbing the oak-thick neck of his mount, Storm whispered gently towards a high ear.

"Yeah, I know Attila. This sucks for all of us. Let's split."

With a single hand on the saddle horn, Storm hopped up effortlessly, using his steel-soled shoes and magnetic prowess to float down gently on the ebony horse's back. He slapped the neck of Attila gently to affirm he was set, and gently pulled the reins back to turn him. Shinsou was moving as well.

"Your sword must not be metal, or at least a non-ferrous type. Otherwise it would have hopped up and we'd have the rain chase us." There was no apology in the failure to expose the sword, nor would one be coming. "I'd suppose we can't beat him to town by now, but presume if he wanted to flatten the town it would be floating in the sea by now."

Shinsou wasn't hesitating to mount his horse either; the urgency was a mixture of anger and convenience. For all their fury, wet clothes and cold air were consistently miserable, and falling ill on the eve of this showdown wouldn't serve anyone well. The dense microforests outside of town would offer enough cover to draw a fire and create a plan; Whitevale was no longer a home for the living.

The sound of the rain beating around them mixed with the clopping of hooves on packed gravel as the tandem left Whitevale, perhaps for the last time. The saturation and white noise was more than enough to quell any need for small talk. There may be a time around the fire for them to discuss the long journey back at length, for now the silence was needed to process the horror that they had experienced, cloistering the horribly images into deep alcoves of the mind to afford them some opportunity to sleep.

Sleep... as good a need as any.

Without another thought, the wizard reached into a saddlebag to grab his smaller flask. A quick jerk and the sweet burn of honey mead warmed his mouth in a welcome lather. The flavors were pleasant in spite of the driving rain, hearkening back to days of sun and smiles. He glanced at Shinsou, whose eyes were already locked on the leather pouch of pleasantries. His hand was up, and easily caught the lobbed flask. Artificial happiness was what they'd have to settle for tonight.