The good news is that fire works on ice. But even then, Foster's advance is irregular, achieved not step by step but leap by leap, as he digs his claws in and lunges forward, covering ground by means of pure fiery determination. So fixed is he on his goal and the obstacles in his way--on the ice, on the wind, on his own focus and purpose, his refusal to accept his fate--that Taako's mounted approach almost gets Garyl mauled.

In fairness, he wasn't expecting the literal goddamn fucking cavalry.

The literal goddamn fucking cavalry on a unicorn.

Duocorn? Bicorn?

It doesn't even matter. He's bleeding from his side, red soaking into his shaggy blond fur, but he isn't limping yet. It's a weird moment in the midst of all the chaos and violence; Foster's beady blue bear's eye rolling sideways to look Taako and his absurd fantasy steed up and down.