He grimaced as the rain continued to beat down on him. Such bother. Turning to face his captive, Crimson was still wrapped up nice and tightly in the ethereal cocoon, only her head and part of her mane visible as she lay unconscious, suspended in the air. Mistress would punish him for this mess, punish him more if he wasted so much old magic in such a blatant display of wyrmhole transportation, but if he made it there with her acolyte and the crown in tow, he'd live at least. Where the Tartarus was Chopper? He was supposed to provide the distraction.