Then Rotti Took Her From Me, Stole My Shiloh, He's To Blame!

Tryst had been making her way slowly through the muck she had woken up to, frowning in disgust and muttering about how she hoped the filth wouldn't stain her bright yellow boots. She'd given up trying to pick it off of her back as it only smeared, and was now left with a crust of the dried and unpleasantly scented mud. She could see a line of mountains in the distance and was using them as a guide, trudging her way through the strange turf towards them.

She hoped this was only a simulation, that she would be yanked from it in the disorienting way that all simulations ended, that the trainers would have an explanation that made sense for her being back in Hope. She hoped that she and her partner hadn't failed in a fight against the Frozen and allowed a village to be decimated. She hoped that Daarsen would be standing there waiting for her with a reassuring though sad smile, his golden hair falling into his eyes and around his ears in the slightly curly way that it did.

She stopped as his name entered her thoughts. Her yellow eyes flashed around, searching her surroundings for any sign of the boy. All she could see was a vast wasteland of muck and feathery plants. No snow. No Frozen. Nothing familiar at all. Where was she? And, more importantly, where was he?

She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. "Daarsen!" The only answer was her own voice as it faded away. Then she caught movement from the corner of her eye - a black streak across the land, not far from her. She didn't stop to think, but morphed into her animal form and took off after it. To an onlooker, the two were simply shapes moving at high speed across the land, the smaller black one only slightly faster and pulling ahead of the larger white one. Tryst didn't care how long it took for the other Spirit - that's what she thought it was - to grow tired and cease its fleeing manner. She needed answers, and perhaps the Spirit had them.