Turn after turn he followed after it until finally he appeared to be gaining on it on a straight run. It didn't speed up nor did it turn around and Handy felt excited. Whatever this was, he wasn't going to let it get away from him. He somehow forgot about his predicament entirely as what had begun as him merely following the White Stag, to which he referred to it in his mind as if it were a proper name rather than a description, became a desperate chase. He didn't even notice the sudden, shocking chill of a torrent of water falling from somewhere above him splashing down onto his shoulder and seeping deep into his armour. He almost had the White Stag within his grasp, water be damned.