The skin on the back of Zogolli's neck prickled up as surely as if it were stretched across the very drums that echoed out around them, a discordant cacophony pierced by riotous fifing and crashing towards them like a wave. It was enough to upheave a sound stomach and urge even the surest foot to flight. It staggered him that such a place persisted so close to the kingdom proper--be it cowardice or negligence the Aabranians were a permissive people. Were that the Wilderdeep on Dosvea's doorstep it would have long ago been torn out at the roots, the earth salted and all else put to the pyre. Soon he was smiling despite the dire straights; it was an assumption he owed to himself to live up to.

He had turned to face the unseen foe, though in truth the sickening dissonance that announced it descended from all sides. That the feline had fled was cursory to his concern, Zogolli had planted his feet. When Serah seemed set to follow suite she was likewise ignored, freeing his hand from the Druid's efforts to see him err before the battle soon to be upon them. With Alexandria adding to the growing route however he swallowed the bitter truth that at best he was left with a musician and mountebank at his side. "Milkhearted to a man." he mused ruefully before putting boot to bush and gaining the ground he'd lost by laying in wait. He hated how they made him feel like a herdsman with an ill tempered flock.