Wuzzafuzzle's Muse Box

The Huntsman had wandered through the beginnings of Initiative Hold in a daze, barely registering what the guide woman had to say to him about the world he'd been brought to. His head had craned, peering at the high ceilings and bizarre, foreign architecture with a sort of wary wonder, a very keen distrust of even the tile he walked on, which made his boots give a quiet clicking, clumps of mud from the dark forest falling off and marring the perfect clean of the hall. Nothing this perfect could be so trusted. When they'd made it to the armory, he found himself unfamiliar with half the weapons there - a feat of great proportions to him, as he generally made it his business to know of weapons. Idly, as if at a second though, he shouldered an ax and moved on with the woman. A bizarre slab of metal with what appeared to be a mirror placed in his hand later and the woman was gone, evacuating back into the building and leaving him to his own means.

For a long moment, the Huntsman merely stood in the middle of the square, a wide-eyed kind of half shock, and half suppressed want to begin to fight his way out, but finding nothing particular to fight, set in his gaze as he found himself with absolutely nothing that appeared familiar.

Until he caught a head of dark hair several paces away - skin pale as the snow and lips red as roses. Of course it would be her. Whisked away to some magical world without a second's notice and left utterly bewildered and completely unprepared for whatever dangers may arise? Of course it would be Snow White's involvement, some home. He gave a quiet huff at the notion, though he couldn't deny the relief in both seeing her well and seeing someone or at least some thing he knew. "Sno--" He caught himself, starting over. "Princess!"