With weeping and with wailing, accursed spirit, do thou remain
The dark beast had wandered into Avenion, almost by accident. He had been alone for some time, ever since the herd of stallions he had been raised in had broken their ties with them. He could not blame them, really. He had, after all, killed one of their strongest brothers. But the bay behemoth could still not bring himself to feel remorse for what he had done. The scoundrel had deserved death. The only crime had been his own, and he had paid for it rightly. Dante had made sure that justice had been served. So, though he missed the comfort of company, he did not leave in anger at his exile. Only with sorrow at the friends he had lost in the process. And regret that he had still not been able to save her, even then.