Her attempts at struggling reminded her of her less than stellar skeletal integrity, and she found herself fuming in quiet impotence as she continued running the gamut between confusion, alarm, anger, and indignity at her circumstances. Jacques, for his part, allowed his surly passenger to sink below the edge of the pony sized crate before slowly drawing his blade. The rasp of metal on leather caused her to jerk up and Jacques to chuckle. He didn’t bother explaining as he held the sword before him in his magic and slowly walked forward, dragging Thorax behind him. The sudden motion threw the changeling to the floor of the crate with a nervous squeak as the conveyance jerked forward, scraping against the floor as it was dragged behind the pony. The occasional metal clack of the blade tip tapping stone echoed throughout the dark, cavernous halls as they travelled, the only sound beyond the scrape of the box that broke the tense silence that otherwise existed between the stallion and the injured changeling.