His own bug-horse burden was even less chatty, and Daniel glanced down at the injured female in his arms with a smidge of concern. Green gunk, much like the stuff that the bug-horses had used to seal over Boris’ wounds, covered her smashed muzzle and held it in place. Still out cold, even after the three hours that had passed since they had retreated, the only sign that she gave of being alive was the occasional wheeze from her uncovered nose.