It's a swirling, simmering blackness that greets his vision, and a twisting feeling in his gut that increases as his ears begin to ring, the sound as if someone was continuously dragging a metal fork against a metal triangle, and he feels himself sway on his feet. He feels as if he's spinning, and he half expects bile to rise from the depths of his stomach with the intensity of the motion of his body and the earth beneath him. It's somewhat reminiscent of a ship in treacherous water, but nevertheless he attempts to block out what's happening around him. Instead, the sound gets louder and the world spins faster, his eyes grow heavy and his chest begins to ache, as if he were about to pass out.

It all stops before that happens, anyway.

He's left gasping for breath on the shores of an island the thick black smog receding from his sight, the rocking eventually slows to a stop, although it takes its time in doing so; he doesn't know where he is or how he got there, this hadn't been the home of the ghost-loving group he'd been with before, who'd worshipped a tree god of all silly things.

Thinking back on it, he can't remember what that tree god's name was. He can't remember the names of anyone he'd known, either, or even the names of any of the places he might have once called home. Their faces, in his memory; are covered by the same swirling black mist that had shrouded his sight only moments before. He sucks in a breath, the cold air sharp against the back of his throat, dry from hyperventilating.

He hunches over, his face pressing against the ground beneath him, the sand scratching against scars that have long since stopped being sensitive. His mouth twists into a wiry, twisted version of what might be considered a frown, the corners pulling down and out as he pants harshly, the rising and falling of his chest coming to a gradual stop.

It enables him to stand straight, finally. His limbs are wobbly and if he were going to describe the feeling of the word 'green' it would be what he's feeling at that moment, but words are lost to him for now. His shoulders shake as he leans slightly to the right, single emeral optic slowly dragging across the scenery around him, as if by looking he could find out where he is.

But it's nowhere that he recognises, and after nearly six years of live, the idea that he's never been here before is like a slap to the face.

He wants to call out to anyone who might be out there, but wherever he'd come from, he'd watched plenty of horror movies; no way was he going to be the one to get himself killed by being stupid, and so he tucked himself tiredly against the ground, lowering his face so his chin rested against the sand, and waited. For what, he didn't know. Yet.

He hears them coming. There are three, of what he can tell--each of them coming from a different direction as if to surround him, though one is distinctly closer than the other tree, noted as he steps through the undergrowth toward him. He's yellow and if he'd never met anyone with some random colouring he might have been surprised, but as it were he'd had a giant spider knit him a blanket to shelter from the cold once, not much surprised him anymore.

Their threatening tone isn't a surprise, either. It's understandable that you'd feel some kind of hostility towards any intruders in your territory, granted Barei didn't even know where he was, and with his somewhat dizzy state he barely had time to ready himself for what could possibly be a fight. He snorted still, stumbling into a somewhat hunched stance, eyes flicking up to the other to peer through his lashes with vaguely irritated intrigue and, leaning slightly to the right; spoke up at last as the other two appeared. "Scary." he scoffed, picking himself up figuratively, his vision clearing up quickly now.

The second one spoke, she smelt like various herbs that left a tingle in his nose that reminded him of Irina. He ignored the comment about his physical state, he knew even when he hadn't just been transported through Satan's asshole that he didn't look presentable. The other, though, walked straight toward him and offered him assistance; there was a kindness there he hadn't expected and, though grateful, it was mostly unneeded. "All I need-" a heavy breath and a swallow as he shook his head, standing upright for the first time in about five minutes. "-is for one of you to tell me where I am, and I'll be out of your hair... In no time."

Barei isn't entirely surprised that he's attacked before another word can come out of anyone's mouth. His immediate reaction is to duck down and slide out of the way, to movement slower than he'd have liked though no less graceful than what you'd expect from a battle-weary soldier. The attack has his fur standing on end and his muscles tensed as if ready to take off at any moment, even as he watches the fireball fizzle out and the yellow cat be partly engulfed by the earth around him. The other one, the one that he'd first noticed had smelt like herbs, is at his defense, though he still won't let his guard down.

His single piercing emerald eye fixates on the yellow male, Caesar, his pupil dilating into a round circle that almost entirely engulfs his iris. He can feel the twitch at his hips egging him on to lunge and sink his claws into him, though he withholds for now. Instead, his lips curl back, blackened lips stretching into a vile sneer. "Calm down, you edgy psycho. I got it, no leaving." he hisses, hackles raising further, torn and tattered ears flattened against his skull. His adams apple bobs in his throat, a low, resonating growl carrying from within his chest. "I'd still like to know where the fuck I am though, if I have that privilege."