[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: The Great Forest]
Puck realized the sudden absence first. Her eyes turned back to the branch where the Cheshire Cat had been lounging only moments ago.
"He's gone," she said quietly, more to herself than to Grimm. Her gaze lingered, wary. "Did he just decide we weren't interesting enough anymore?"
Grimm didn't answer .
The Deseruit Beast was still charging.
Its hooves—or what passed for them—chewed through the dead ground with brute force, fog tearing apart around its massive frame. Its squeals came out ragged, a sound that suggested its lungs were perhaps overworked.
"It seems," he began, "he leaves when he's said what he came to say."
Puck sighed. "Seems he just enjoyed being vague and buzzed off."
Grimm hummed in agreement as he raised one arm to the side. A fog beside him reacted immediately, black as ink. It twisted inward, compressing, its edges shuddering as though resisting the shape being forced upon it.
The fog solidified.
