Styx paced ahead, shaking his head at the foolish gembound that raced into the dangerous shadows, risking their necks for those who might already be dead. His wings ruffled, mantled, snapped back into place, twitched his ears to listen to those who were calling out to help and protect.
His paws stepped carefully, not wanting to sink into the quicksand, or to suffocate over the pockets of air he knew to be there. The torch was... well, not quite a torch, and he moved to pace around it, twitching his nose hesitantly, only to retch as his breath caught in his throat, clogging as though it were some tangible thing, and his heart thrummed, racing as though it were trying to account for all the beats it might miss, the doberman panicking as he recognized the poisonous air he feared so.
Styx is rolling to investigate the torch