While Demorra struggled to free her new comrade and tears began to roll down Capella's face, the weeds' decisive hold on their victim became all the more aggressive. Tendrils coiled tightly around Capella's limbs, lashed around her waist, pulled back with each yank of Demorra's will, as if they were actively fighting her for possession of Capella.

A low growl rumbled behind Demorra.

The small dog -- the very same that had been previously suspended spinning over the mote by the ocean -- darted out from behind the red-glowing mote in a flash of tawny fur. With bared teeth, the little dog caught a firm hold upon a bunch of weeds and whipped its head back and forth, snarling viciously, until the weeds were uprooted. Immediately the dog took another chomping mouthful and tugged and wrenched and growled until these, too, were yanked right out of the ground.

Bit by bit, Capella was freed enough for Demorra to successfully pull her out and away from the creeping plantlife. The dog took a protective stance between them and the weeds, hackles raised, and barked heartily at the last few snaking searching tendrils.

Deeper in the open forest, the noises of moving and humming had shifted closer. Something murmured, upset by the barking dog. Shadows drew closer.

Griff

The wet, cold nose of the dog at his shoulder did little to nudge Griff out of his stupor. He stared skyward for what seemed like hours, only to turn his attention to the struggle across the clearing. He saw the girl with perfectly-bifurcated hair stumble and struggle, tripping over weeds. Another girl in their star-crossed party of strangers sprung to her side. She pulled at the chimerical girl, bending and twisting the waif away from aggressive roots.

'Strange,' Griff mused hollowly.

It was almost as if the tendrils moved and grasped of their own accord. Ill intent. He could imagine the vines spitting and hissing like serpents, sinking rose-thorn teeth into soft waiting flesh.

A growl shook Griff further, and he watched the mangy mutt leap into action. Fangs bared, the dog ripped and tore at the choking vines. Combined with the efforts of the bewitching cat-eyed girl, Capella was hauled free.

Griff stood up. He stared at the Mote accusingly. Its ethereal runes, glowing soft like embers, almost seemed to swell with some indescribable power. Griff shivered as infernal figures danced in his mind's eye--imps and demons whispered about at bedtime. He could imagine them screaming and chanting around a Mote such as this. How had Griff ever found promise in these cursed relics? They were scoundrels, promising wealth and bounty only to cast Griff further downstream.

Drowning alongside madmen and witches and young women touched by the hand of some great, sinister Fury.

His arms were tense. Knuckles clenched. Griff motioned to his waist for a knife that was not there. Failing that, he grabbed for one of the few tools left in his leatherworking pouch. A long, broad file with stout saw-toothed edges. A tapered long glinted on the side opposite his grip.

"Get back. Pull her away from...from that," Griff instructed Demorra. He gestured cautiously at the Mote, as if the relic could sense his malcontent. He then turned to the shifting dimness in the trees opposing him.

Humming. Griff could see shadows move from between the bone-pale trees. Their shapes were impossible to make out, and he couldn't tell if they drew closer, or simply bore physiology that rendered them so indistinct as to change size on a whim. He squinted, trying to suss out any telltale signs of familiar wildlife--eyes, antlers, anything. He was accustomed to animals. Trapping, killing, and skinning came as simply as breathing.

He knew to stand tall. Draw the stance wide, puff out his chest. Artificially inflate his body to take up more space. One could easily scare off the odd coyote or lone dire-wolf if the proper body language was maintained. Griff clenched the long file in his hand, and bit back fear. This was as familiar a feeling he'd experienced since being dropped into the strange grove by this Mote. Nostalgia nudged him again as he glanced quickly to the two young women across the grove, and he couldn't help but see his sisters' scared faces.

"...And we need to be ready to run," he added quietly.

Unable to stop the tears from running down her dirt stained cheeks, Capella forced her eyes shut as the brown haired woman told her that she would get her out of this strange predicament she found herself in. As the other wrapped her arms under the trapped girl's arms, Capella couldn't help but tense up at the contact. And while she was grateful for the other and what she was trying to do to help her out, the dual haired girl let out a scream of pain as the weeds didn't feel like letting her go, to the point that the weeds felt like rope trying to pull her body apart with each pull that came from the brown haired girl.

It got to a point where Capella thought she was really going to get ripped apart by the weeds and her new acquaintance, that is, until a low growl forced her to open her eyes again to a sight she couldn't believe. That dog from before, the dog that desperately called out for their help, pulled and yanked at the weeds holding her captive.
"Alright! Go doggie go!" One of her voices chanted. An while Capella would never say it like that, she was silently agreeing with the voice as well.

Unable to do anything but bare the pain, Capella held in her cries for the sake of those that were helping her, even the man that seemed to be attempting to ward off other enemies from approaching. With the dog's help, it didn't take long for Capella to be freed, and once she was, the girl wrapped her arms around the brown haired woman's waist, burying her face into the other's chest. Too frightened to speak her thanks, Capella chose to let her actions speak for her.

She only pulled away at the sound of the man's voice, him telling them to get ready to run. Not sure if she could handle anymore of this, Capella looked to the cat eyed girl hopefully, wondering if sh would follow the man's orders or not.

Demorra heaved and heaved with all her strength, but these damned weeds just would not let go! She noticed Capella begin to sob, and hurriedly said "Sorry! I'm sorry! I've almost got you free, promise."

She didn't. The vines were matching her strength, and even beginning to win out a little. Demorra was starting to wonder if the poor girl would be ripped in half before she was freed.

Suddenly, a little dog - the one that was trapped in the Mote, before, Demorra realized - ran over and occupied the vines' attention by ripping them right out of the earth. With its assistance, Demorra was able to finally yank Capella free, sending her stumbling backwards a few steps. She sat down heavily, panting. She'd never been an especially strong person, so trying to pull someone free of Mote-empowered grass (Demorra briefly wondered if they were carnivorous) took a bit of a toll on her.

Demorra felt a soft impact with her chest, and stiffened, only to relax when she realized that it was the girl she had freed, giving Demorra a hug and burying her face in her chest. She began to stiffen up again, as she realized, Oh goodness oh gods above there's a cute girl who I've only just met giving me a hug what do I dooooo

Fortunately for Demorra, the man from earlier spoke up.

"Get back. Pull her away from...from that," Griff instructed Demorra.

"...And we need to be ready to run," he added quietly.

Demorra collected herself quickly. "Right. I-" Suddenly, something on the Mote caught her eye, and she stopped, transfixed. She wasn't especially far away from it, so she was able to discern a couple of the runes etched into its surface. As she squinted at them, Demorra realized with a start that she could read them. They said Seven and Chimaera.

Demorra shook her head. Whatever this was, it could wait. Right now, there were more pressing matters. She turned to Capella, and offered her a hand. "Come on, dear. Let's get you up and moving. You heard the man; we need to be ready to leave here at any moment."

He knew to stand tall. Draw the stance wide, puff out his chest. Artificially inflate his body to take up more space. One could easily scare off the odd coyote or lone dire-wolf if the proper body language was maintained. Griff clenched the long file in his hand, and bit back fear. This was as familiar a feeling he'd experienced since being dropped into the strange grove by this Mote. Nostalgia nudged him again as he glanced quickly to the two young women across the grove, and he couldn't help but see his sisters' scared faces.

"...And we need to be ready to run," he added quietly.

ith the dog's help, it didn't take long for Capella to be freed, and once she was, the girl wrapped her arms around the brown haired woman's waist, burying her face into the other's chest. Too frightened to speak her thanks, Capella chose to let her actions speak for her.

She only pulled away at the sound of the man's voice, him telling them to get ready to run. Not sure if she could handle anymore of this, Capella looked to the cat eyed girl hopefully, wondering if sh would follow the man's orders or not.

Suddenly, something on the Mote caught her eye, and she stopped, transfixed. She wasn't especially far away from it, so she was able to discern a couple of the runes etched into its surface. As she squinted at them, Demorra realized with a start that she could read them. They said Seven and Chimaera.

Demorra shook her head. Whatever this was, it could wait. Right now, there were more pressing matters. She turned to Capella, and offered her a hand. "Come on, dear. Let's get you up and moving. You heard the man; we need to be ready to leave here at any moment."

The moment Demorra recognized the runes, the aura of the Mote shifted; Griffin and Capella would both feel it, too: a tingling warmth, combined with a low pulse of the runes' glow. The Mote seemed to resonate with Demorra's attention. The creeping vines slunk back into the ground --

-- and the Mote disappeared, as if it were never there at all.

"Ka! It's gone!" a shout rang out among the trees, coming from the herd of strange beasts -- which, as they arrived closer, turned out to be men draped heavily in furs, riding woolly elk and carrying spears. Their faces were streaked with red paint. The elk huffed and pawed at the grass.

One of the men held up a glowing, humming device that cast an odd blue light upon his face.

Demorra would understand this, recognize who they are -- but it was all on the tip of her tongue, not quite defined, the memory foggy.

She knew she had to run.

"There's a Sight here!" the man roared, as if calling to battle -- he glared directly at Demorra.

"What's that thing next to her?" another elk-rider sneered, referring to Capella's curious appearance.

Already, a few of the elk had launched into a gallop toward the group, their riders fierce and their weapons sharp. Hooves pounded the grass as they wove expertly between the trees; their riders leaned forward with bared teeth, the dead furs windblown on their backs. Each elk was curiously adorned with precious gems in their harnesses; bags heavy with the telltale clink of coins hung from each saddle.

"Take them both!" their leader shouted from behind -- an elder man draped in the fur of a white wolf. "Kill the boy!"

One of the riders aimed a spear at Griffin; another leaned down to grab Demorra and Capella both, a hefty arm outstretched, so conveniently were the girls attached to one another.

The Mote beckoned to Demorra; it had reappeared a few yards away, its red glow pulsing against the white trees.

Behind Griff, at an equal distance, was the entrance to a deep cave, dark and far too small to allow the elk to enter.

Not realizing how tightly she was hugging the girl next to her, Capella let out a startled gasp, pulling away ever so slightly when the other offered a hand and some words to get her moving. That's right, now wasn't the time to be spacing out. With that man sanding guard against...what looked like natives of the land, she couldn't let his bravery get go in vain.

"Take her hand. She can obviously be trusted..." Even Sirius agreed, so Capella did as she was told and nodded softly before taking the cat eyed girl's hand and quickly pulled herself up.
"R-Right...okay." She spoke up for herself before looking over at the group of natives eyeing them and making comments about who they were. At first she thought they were just going to keep staring at them as if they were in a display case. She probably hoped it would stay like that, but unfortunately, luck was not on her or any of their sides, and a group of natives came barreling towards them, one, who was probably the leader of them, screaming for both her and her savior to be captured.

Eyes wide from shock and sirens practically blaring in her head when one of the elk riders brought a hand out to grab them, Capella began to pull on Demorra's hand, stumbling backwards in hopes of getting away from and almost inevitable capture.