Valetni scowled, angrily tapping his cane against the ground. Damn those madmen. Murdering the horses, now he would be forced to walk! He spat on the ground, narrowly missing the trunk that lurked next to him. And his chest! He would not be parted from it, oh no, not for all the gold in the land, and especially not at this junction. He supposed some luckless hellguard would be press ganged into carrying it, any other option would be unthinkable. It was not as if he could carry his own supplies, he had enough to do simply carrying himself, thank you very much.<br/><br/>Damn those madmen, those vandals, those hooligans. The wagons could have been rebuilt, or repaired, but the horses? Horseflesh did not grow on trees, or at least not any tree uncorrupted by the taint of those daemonic.<br/><br/>If only they had some beast of burden...Valetni cast a sidelong glance at the Griffon, entertaining the thought for a few moments before dismissing it. The musculature was all wrong. A Griffon would never be able to cut it as a draft animal.