"Well, shee-it," Krysondra moaned with true Southern flair.  "That bastard Kashchey was only supposed to be dead again.  I do so hate it when people either lie about these things or don't stay dead.  It's really horribly unfair to those of us who need to know."  She shook her head and rubbed her forehead with her knewly healed hand, contemplating the headache she was getting just thinking of dealing with the not so wonderful wizard.  "So, he wasn't dead or un- when you dealt with him?  If not, I've got some skinning to do."

"Oh," she exclaimed offering a hand oncemore in true Southern fashion.  "Nice to meet you, Horse, and don't worry about the little mishap.  I don't kill easily."  "But I suppose this means you've got as much reason to go after him as I do?"  Her voice lilted into a question, and a hopeful look appeared in her eyes.  She was moved by the look on his face, but right now, she needed allies, not moving.  If Kashchey was after her, it was going to be a bad week, a bad week indeed.

“Oh yeah,” Horse said with a one-nod-fits-all bounce of his head – mostly in reply to her last question but also as an ascent to everything else she said. He was relieved, in a scratchy sort of way, to drop from the contrite high road and back down to more familiar territory. He’d given Krysondra’s hand a hearty but careful shake and then stood up. Ridges emerged on his back in anticipation of the return of his wings. He began pacing slowly and punctuating his words with flourishes of his hands.

“Actually, I feel stupid. You know what demons are, what they do and their usual modus operandi. Well, I ain’t one of them anymore. At least I thought so. It’s damn near impossible to call me up to do dirty work by knowing my full name, for example. I’ve conveniently forgotten it. That’s just so 14th century, anyway,” Horse said as though in one single sentence, pacing before Krysondra with his eyes roaming the ground.

“And Kashchey meant about as much to me as herpes when he showed up. But he had that box.” He glanced to Krysondra and grimaced. “That’s a long story and I’m not telling it. Short version – it was the talisman inside that flicked my switch – like a Bic at a Three Dog Night concert.”

As he paced, his anger began bubbling up from his own private hell. He liked the taste of it. It tasted like revenge. With the sound of leather sheets billowing in a strong breeze, Horse's wings unfolded behind him. His skin had already turned reddish-orange and his pupils seemed to split down the middle.

“What that man needs is a lube-free anal surprise. Lock, box and stone intact. So, yes. For better or worse, we’re in this together, Ma’am,” Horse turned to face Krysondra – his body now fully returned to his natural, rather impressive, demon glory.

“And we’re going to need that box. Or at least the stuff it was made from,” he said - his words punctuated by breathy puffs of steam in the frigid air.