It had left Polaris, finally, but not truly of its own volition. The wrong looking hybrid now seemed worse for wear, flimsy even, as it took unsteady steps across slippery ice towards a new destination, a new base of operations, somewhere far from the Spire that had in truth been working against him the entire time. Aggravated more than it normally would be, sore and vaguely nauseas, it shambled at a pace more befitting the dead.

Hells above, it certainly felt half-dead today. No appetite, a soreness to every joint, tender flesh and oversensitive whiskers left the thing quite frankly overstimulated and irritable. Savage, even.

A drop of excess saliva eased down its throat as it slid without concern or grace down an icy slope.

Duly miserable, it carried on out of instinct more than anything else; an impulsive drive that sent the hybrid in motion each day despite it being keenly aware of how wrong its existence truly was.