The pain in his head grew, and he could barely focus on the street in front of him. He saw where Thorax had exited the street from. He was almost there; he could not afford to pause now. He could not afford to risk what others might see if, say, he lifted his hand to rub his forehead. Would others see him merely lift a forehoof to do the same motion, or would the illusion do something altogether unexpected? Or would it break entirely? He did not know; he could not know. He had to go before anything happened. He saw one of the guards turn to murmur something to his companion, and Handy hurried his pace. His eyes were almost forced shut with the pain by the time he turned the corner and into the dark little corner of the world Thorax had led him.