He stalked among the tents, his hooves splashing down in the puddles as the damp clouds around continued spilling their contents. Occasionally, he came across some random griffon or pony that was utterly lost and confused. Once or twice he came upon a soldier searching fruitlessly for him, some using their wings to try to disperse the clouds, a process that would take hours after what he did to them. A few more brief words,t he air crystallising as he exhaled and ghostly apparitions of Thunder’s form materialised within the clouds, galloping and creating non-sounds and false lights that attracted the attention of the guards as they took off after the false Thunders. He continued his journey, trotting along at a steady pace through ruined tents, overturned stalls, and the innumerable detritus of a festival gone to ruin. This situation was salvageable at least. Chopper or no Chopper, he'd make it back with the crown and the acolyte to assuage the mistress' wrath and maybe get a little extra on the side if she was feeling generous.