[The vines tighten, beginning to release a faint dusting of some purple dust. It wafts slowly off, rolling down the horse's flanks and seeming to numb it. The animal thrashes a bit less as the spore-cloud works.
The horseman starts trying to free himself, wriggling around to reach his sword, but Darkwing's rope is making it hard. If he could roar, he would. He has no mouth, so he cannot scream (in rage)!]
Don't touch that stuff, Darkwing, it'll slow you down.
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The horseman starts trying to free himself, wriggling around to reach his sword, but Darkwing's rope is making it hard. If he could roar, he would. He has no mouth, so he cannot scream (in rage)!]
Don't touch that stuff, Darkwing, it'll slow you down.