Lucius moves with the sort of long-legged walk that is customary to him, with the only difference is that he has his wand out with a certain amount of readiness, whereas he ordinarily prefers to carry concealed. However much he might appreciate the solitude and bleak strangeness of this world, he has gotten into enough physical tangles to remain wary -- but he is almost apathetic in his fearlessness. Being a natural coward, it takes something more like confidence and nilihism in combination, rather than courage, to affect such a thing.

And no matter what sort of monsters are lurking out there, they're nothing compared to what he's flinched from before.

The shape ahead resolves with proximity and visibility. A creature of strange formation, beastial without definition, although that is more due to the state of it than solely the Fog's twisting affect on its growth. The head is submerged in the murky water, the rest of it sprawled on the incline of rocky terrain. Six legs, vaguely canine in shape, and half-eaten. Tendrils of gore string from savaged openings, bone yellow and grey where meat has been stripped off completely. There is blood, dried and black, a lot of it.

It probably smells bad, too, which is something Lucius takes into consideration when he comes to a halt, probably prone to being more delicate about these things than the potioneer beside him, for all that getting hands dirty is a thing they've all done.

"This one's new." His tone does not match the setting. Conversational.