Foster can listen and lead--so to speak--at the same time, but only just; he definitely can't chat while he does so, so Carly and Miko have their conversation to themselves. The trail is easy to follow, though--the maushunds lead them through the undergrowth at a brisk pace, their undead bodies immune to pain or branches whipped into their faces.
The blood, though.
The blood--
Foster's heart sinks and his pulse quickens all at once. Excitement, dismay, hope, fear, anticipation--
The moments between finding the blood and coming upon the clearing have his chin streaked with drool, his mind in racing fragments, but he actually recognises one of the beasts in the clearing. He recognises it, and he remembers it.
One piece of his brain recalls, distantly, that attacking Carnival members is forbidden. But that piece is not the whole, nor is it in control, and his undead beasts set upon the fight in a flash, rushing the white beast with jaws snapping to drive it off their prey as Foster runs his horse around the edge of the clearing, briefly too preoccupied to remember the reined command to 'halt.'
no subject
The blood, though.
The blood--
Foster's heart sinks and his pulse quickens all at once. Excitement, dismay, hope, fear, anticipation--
The moments between finding the blood and coming upon the clearing have his chin streaked with drool, his mind in racing fragments, but he actually recognises one of the beasts in the clearing. He recognises it, and he remembers it.
One piece of his brain recalls, distantly, that attacking Carnival members is forbidden. But that piece is not the whole, nor is it in control, and his undead beasts set upon the fight in a flash, rushing the white beast with jaws snapping to drive it off their prey as Foster runs his horse around the edge of the clearing, briefly too preoccupied to remember the reined command to 'halt.'