World Tree MUSH

  It's a pretty spring day in Polyuchyn, although the temperatures aren't quite as warm as they otherwise could be. Snow still dots the high mountains, and it may be some time in melting. The sky is blue and clear, though, with white puffy clouds scudding by on a brisk wind.

  This isolated country road is the perfect place for Kometa to really rev its motor. There isn't another soul in sight; not a battered old farm truck or a city car running errands.

  All is quiet... but not for long.

  A Vine opens onto the humble backcountry road, and through it hurtles a great dark figure. At first it isn't immediately clear what it might be, but the shadowy form takes shape a moment later.

  It might have been humanoid, once. It runs on overly long arms, pulling its shorter hind legs along in an almost ape-like lope. Its head has no face; a flat metal disc obscured any features it might have. Cilia-like tentacles frame its head like a caricature of hair.

  When it emerges through the Vine, it gives voice to a chilling hunt-scream. Birds fly in panic and smaller creatures flee. Farther afield, a deer jerks it's head upright and bounds for the nearest forest.

  The creature slows to a halt, scuttling in a crude circle, as though it were casting about for specific quarry. It's enormous. Goodness only knows what it's actually hunting.

  Something else hurtles through the Vine.

  This one is also a great dark shape, but there's more grace in its movements. It's a very large horse, sleek and black, leaping with effortless ease and landing with a flatter of hooves onto the rough, weed-dotted pavement. On its back it bears a figure swathed in black robes, the margins decorated with ornate silver stitching that flashes in the spring sun. A good obscures the rider's face, but its dark-gloves hands bear an incredibly ornate bow, chased in gold and silver, a plain arrow fitted to the string.

  The creature further ahead whips its head around as though it were physically dragged, lets out another blood-curdling peal of rage, and turns to throw itself after the huntsman.

  Wasting no time, the rider spurs their horse after the beast. The two run straight at one another before the war-horse swerves, the rider ducking low, and the two follow the road; the rider leading the beast away from the nearest settlement.

  The chase is on, and what a bizarre sight for the non-magical denizens of this place.

    Isolated roads are good. Isolated twisty roads that put demands on a driver's skill in timing, racing line, and knowing the feel of the road intimately are wonderful. Fortunately this one happens to be a personal favorite of the girl behind the wheel, and she uses every last millimeter of tire and asphalt.

    It's a joy.

    Fortunately it's as empty as it seems; no farmers or other civilians - the destination that used to lie at the end of this road closed years ago. That also tends to mean no police, another bonus. While the local constables are, after all, deep in the pocket of the Stojespal family and would never do anything so untoward as /ticket/ her...the whispers and rumors would eventually circulate, especially around the one who managed to catch the mirror-black speed demon.

    There's that faint ripple, that sense of a distortion in the world - as if an invisible lens passed, focusing the world ever so wrongly and yet being entirely nonexistent. It's just enough of a warning that Rusalka lifts her foot a microscopic amount off the gas pedal, fingers tightening on the wheel as she scans for what caused it -

    - and the hunt scream rolls across the road and hills like the challenge of an ancient being declaring its ownership and invincibility. Rusalka's other foot hammers instinctively on the brakes, sending Kometa into a nose-diving skid as she comes around a corner just to see the war-horse and its rider arrive. Fortunately the Ferrari manages to miss the flashing hooves, but it's a close enough shave even to rattle her - as the freakish monstrosity the huntsman pursues turns the tables and begins charging after.

    This does, of course, mean that it's charging after //her// as well, and with a burst of profanity she throws the car into reverse and floors the gas pedal, tires momentarily shrieking and spewing smoke before they grip and launch the car backwards - hopefully out of the way of the beast, lest it go through the sportscar like a freight train.

    It passes, barely, in hot pursuit of its prey and apparently ignoring her. "Good...now, what..." The rider, at least, is human. And very clearly from a vine. Okay. The chase is on indeed, as Sally flicks the car back into gear and starts her own pursuit. How to get around the monstrous freak...and how to catch up to the rider? She's got the obvious horsepower advantage, but that beast takes up the road like a drunken moron, and...there's still no telling who that horseman is.

    But she can't let them get killed alone and let this thing threaten her town, she decides - or realizes, she'd already decided the moment she hit the gas to start chasing them.

    //Mother would be proud...//

  A minimum of witnesses is an unexpected bonus. That means there aren't any innocents to be harmed by such a monster as this, and monster it certainly is. Those claws look like they could shred through even light armour without effort.

  The war-horse squeals as the car moves too close, shying to one side without ever breaking stride; its hooded rider bends low to its neck, but wastes no attention on the car. It's a risk, but it seems the rider's first priority is that creature.

  When the hooded figure twists to snap off several arrows at the bounding monster, it becomes clear this isn't a chase of panic â the monster is being led. It looks like the rider purposefully chose a direction in which there would be no people, although the fast-driving car was an unexpected complication.

  While the rider is facing backwards, though, Rusalka might snatch a glimpse of the face beneath the hood. No wizened adventurer, no bearded warrior; but the smooth face of a young woman, mouth twisted in a grimace of exertion and what may be disgust. Her eyes are dark beneath the hood, too dark to see their colour, but hard as iron.

  There isn't much hope of communicating to the driver of that strange machine. Its engine is too loud, drowning out any words, and the thunder of the war-horse's hooves is a close second.

  Fortunately, the driver seems to get the idea.

  An arrow is snatched from the quiver beneath her hip; the young woman flourishes it and points it at the beast, risking brief eye contact with the driver. The meaning is clear.

  Kill that thing.

  No sooner is the gesture made than the arrow is slapped onto the string, drawn back to where her ear would be, and loosed straight at the beast. It caroms off the metallic mask with a shower of sparks, and she doesn't even wait to see if the shot strikes true before following two more up. Impressive strength of arm, for one so seemingly young, but it isn't enough to dissuade the beast. That metallic disc makes for formidable protection.

  Rusalka's in a better position to actually do some damage, and the rider seems to acknowledge this, shrugging the bow onto her shoulder and risking a glance behind at the creature. Still got its attention? Yes? Good.

  Turning forward, she shrugs the bow onto her shoulder and leans low against her steed's neck, urging the war-horse a little further. The gesture is clear: Come and claim me, creature.

    Tailing after the creature, Rusalka can't help but get a great view of those claws. Light armor, easily...and very certainly the body panels of her beloved car. Then again she may not have a choice, she considers -- cobalt blue eyes glance at the rider, blinking in surprise as the woman astride the horse meets hers for an instant.

    The beast scrabbles for purchase on occasion, sending stones, gravel, and broken asphalt flying. The sleek, almost malevolent looking machine manages to dodge it effectively, though, keeping pace behind the giant monstrosity the whole time. It takes some effort, Sally's feet practically dancing on the gas and brake pedals and her hands flicking the wheel back and forth.

    It's a little like running on the track, she decides. With a bunch of drunks. And a freight train gone berserk in the next lane, but still. Okay, she can do this...even if the other woman wants the beast dead.

    Sally can see why. But the arrows she fires somehow strike true, all things considered - it's an impressive feat of archery at that speed, and for a moment the Polyuchyn teenager is shocked before she realizes the truth. Those three arrows weren't enough to even stagger it...

    Well. Her eyes narrow, focusing on the hind legs of the thing, watching the timing...hoofbeats, hoofbeats, hoofbeats. Hooves that could probably punch through a tank, a tiny ignored voice in the back of her head thinks. The only thing she's paying attention to now is distance, velocity, the road, the wind, the motor, waiting for the right moment...

    There!

    Professionally, it's referred to as the PIT maneuver. A pursuing car cuts inside its target on a turn, catching the rear quarter with its front bumper, and shifting to the outside of the turn. Were her target a car, the rear wheels would break out into a skid and send the thing spinning to a sudden halt. It's the sort of thing not taught to most drivers...but the aficionado had managed to persuade the bodyguards around the family to teach her the 'cool' stuff on occasion.

    Thank you, Uncle Petya. She'll have to be extra nice to him now, after this. As the road puts a gentle turn into the trio's path, Sally brings the Ferrari forward as if to dive and pass the beast, before flicking the car into a hit on its rear legs. Even as big as it is, it can't -- shouldn't -- be able to handle the sudden push of several thousand pounds of sportscar sideways, and with a little luck is going to end up tumbling into a heap for the archeress.

    And then there's the shriek of aluminum as those monstrous hooves tear into the bodywork. "Kometa forgive me!"

  Once the rider has eye contact, it's attention forward for her. By the deliberation of her actions, she had never been fleeing in fear from the creature. This has been a focused and directed chase. She's intentionally leading this shrieking force of nature away from any populated areas, and distracting it into leaving the civilians alone.

  A noble enough motivation, and not one that the average person would take when faced with such a monster.

  The creature doesn't react fast enough when the black machine swerves around to bump into the creature's strangely unbalanced flank. It scrabbles wildly with its front limbs, and pinwheels off the road in a cloud of grass, gravel, bits of ashphalt, and flailing claws and limbs. On the road ahead, the horse and rider slow, but don't stop.

  For a moment it looks like the thing must be down for the count. After being nudged by a car speeding at unsafe velocities, it's got to be over. Every one of those spidery limbs must surely be broken. Up ahead, the rider has slowed far enough to circle around, approaching at a sauntering trot; the hooded figure has an arrow strung and half-drawn, as though not quite believing that the creature is dead.

  It's not.

  After a few ominous spasming twitches, the thing manages to shudder its way back to its feet, hurling itself in the direction of the rider. The rider looses her arrow, which caroms off the creature's mask as the last ones had.

  Got your attention, now, have I? her cool stare seems to say, already slapping another arrow to the string.

  She waits until it almost seems too late, and then the massive destrier lurches forward with a grunt, even as she raises the bow to take aim. The woman is an uncanny good archer -- it looks like she can compensate for the thunder of the war-horse's stride, narrowing her eye sharply before releasing the string. Much as the one before, the mask deflects it, but it must have struck at a better angle. The creature violently shakes its head and sways drunkenly before correcting its course.

  The rider ahead swears virulently, but the din of battle drowns out whatever it is that she specifically shouts. It must surely be a curse by the tone, if not the words, of her voice. Her eyes snap wide as it becomes clear that the car has halted in the middle of the road; simultaneously, she rockets to her feet in the stirrups and haul backwards on the reins. The movement is enough to bring the horse to skid forward on its braced hind legs, half-rearing and screaming. Acting quickly, the rider stays up on the stirrups and leans low over the horse's neck to stay balanced.

  Unfortunately, it doesn't stop the horse's hooves from ripping into the aluminium body of Kometa. Hopefully Kometa's spirit isn't too angry. It's a noble cause.

  A push against the car rebounds the horse's momentum, and it lands heavily on its front hooves, dancing sideways to avoid the solid object.

  The rider stands in the stirrups, snapping off two more arrows into the head of the creature, just to be sure she has its attention. Twisting in the saddle, she jerks an arrow toward the creature, several times, with urgent emphasis. Kill that thing now, the gesture seems to say, while the opportunity still presents itself!

    In fairness, if it were initially up to her Rusalka would have thrown the Ferrari into reverse and hammered it - running away; she's not a fighter of any kind. But, at least, running away to get help, the cavalry, police, even to beg her mother to order an airstrike on the unholy thing. She'd never considered that she would be the cavalry, however, but at least the Stojespal indoctrination held this time around.

    No way is she going to permit this to endanger her town, her people, or even this stranger on a horse...but she's damn sure going to want to know more about just what this thing is afterward.

    Meanwhile Sally cringes as both the black beast and the horse leave their damage on Kometa's bodywork; blue eyes stare out the window in surprise as the giant horse pauses next to her, the window flicking down so she can shout all kinds of bad words and badly worded questions at the rider. Those questions die in her throat, however, as the explosion of dust and asphalt announces the return of the monster to the fight, and she can see in the rear view that it's still moving...but not well.

    Kill it?! How!? She wants to demand answers for such a question; she has no guns or bows or anything. Even her fencing rapier is at home; how often does one need a sword when out for a drive anyway?!

    Uncle Petya had taught her some tactical tricks with the car. Uncle Misha, much more cheerfully, had taught her...other things. Less tactical, but much more fun. Things that her father would be amused by, she thinks...but not so much right now. It's instinctive, what happens next.

    The horse's rider might catch a glimpse of bright yellow, a medallion - a maker's mark for the car. One that might just be recognized; a black war-horse rampant upon a yellow shield. Only a glimpse, though, because faster than Zelda's ever witnessed the purring engine slips into a tremendous snarl and the whole car rockets backwards, tires shrieking momentarily on the asphalt.

    It's almost like the war cry of a charging warrior.

    "Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh sh--" Just before she rams the sleek machine into the beast, Sally's hand drops down to the emergency brake and yanks it hard, while spinning the wheel as fast as she can. The seatbelts hold, fortunately, as the Ferrari's nose flicks into a 180 turn -- sending the front end of the car crashing right into the beast as if it were a spinning kick.

    And she can feel every shriek of metal, every crack of glass, every splinter of plastic like a knife in her heart.

  Most people would have run away, especially with an escape like Kometa to fall back on. Any ordinary person who doesn't consider themselves a match to a Twilight Messenger is a perfectly normal sort.

  They're brutal creatures, and that much is obvious just by their appearance.

  The rider ignores both curses and questions alike, keeping her attention focused with the sharpness of a razor on her seemingly dead quarry. Her eyes hood and her direct attention snap sideways to follow Kometa's bellowing charge; a tug back on the reins sets her war-horse to picking its way backwards and out of the road.

  Ironically, she's wearing a rapier on her right hip. If she had any inkling that the stranger could use it, she probably would have. Her eyes skim over the Ferrari medallion as Kometa roars past, lifting a brow as the car suddenly backs up towards the Twilight Messenger.

  As the front quarterpanel smashes into the beast, its doesn't even have time to scream. Crushed by the momentum, its remains flop into a ditch.

  By the time anyone looks to investigate it more closely, it vanishes in a puff of black flame and weirdly angling, dark, geometric embers.

  The rider, meanwhile, is wheeling her war-horse around to turn and saunter towards the wreckage. She vaults from the saddle in a single agile leap, landing lightly and both eyeing and approaching the car warily.

  Somewhere between one breath and the next, her bow has vanished, to be replaced by a rapier in hand, polished steel gleaming. Much like the bow, its decoration is fit for royalty.

  You never know. And just in case that monster's still alive...

  "Halloooo!" Her call is given with her free hand cupped to her mouth, though the hood stays up, concealing her features. "Are you all right in there...?"

    She'd loved to have done just that -- but it would have meant abandoning the horse and rider, and potentially endangering her town. The arrows weren't having all that great an effect on the beast, and it wasn't as if Rusalka carried a heavy shotgun or such devices on hand. The only option was to fight, and fight ugly -- a lesson she'd started learning much more and more frequently, it seemed.

    At least she has something to fight for, Sally decides. And that is worth the pain.

    She doesn't quite see clearly what happened to the thing. The impact was best described as jarring, even with her instinct to brace and to jam the accelerator at the very last moment. "How to survive hitting a large animal" lessons were yet another thing she'd learned; this time it had paid off unexpectedly...and blinking her eyes to steady herself from the hard snap of the collision, Sally manages to catch the flaming darkness burn out.

    After a silent moment, as the rider approaches the car, the engine sputters once, twice, then back to life with a growl. Wounded, but operating; the Ferrari's design put the powerplant in the rear for good reasons. The front end, meanwhile, is in less stellar shape -- some of the paneling is simply torn off, other pieces twisted and dragging against the ground and making a tremendous grinding sound as the car starts to back up slowly.

    A rubbery thudding squeal, though, gets the driver to brake instantly and shut the engine off before spilling out of the black vehicle. Taking a moment to catch her balance, shaking her head and letting short hair spill away from a small hairband, the driver finally nods. "Yes...yes, I'm...I'm alright." Breathe. Breathe. Faint trembling in her fingers make pulling her hair back difficult, and she just tosses the band back into the car, giving up in frustration.

    Her own attire...is certainly not the typical look for a Hyrulean. A checkered scarf and leather jacket, cut precisely to her figure, might be understandable, but the denim shorts, bare legs, and soft t-strap shoes are something else entirely. While it's not warm in Polyuchyn, it's nice by local flavor, and she hadn't exactly planned on spending the day outside. Blue eyes the color of sapphire peer out from beneath long brown bangs, as she looks back to the woman approaching.

    "You're unhurt? You and your horse, are alright?" Flickering embers, flickering flames, a terrible sound. The momentary memory causes Sally to jump, spinning to look back where the beast was. "It--it's dead, yes? Where did it go?!" Frightened eyes glance back and forth at the treeline, hoping to spot the black monstrosity before it leaps out again at her.

  Those arrows' lack of effect didn't seem to bother the rider at all; indeed, the shots had been deliberate, meant to keep the beast's attention fixed firmly on her. Its claws would have shredded through Kometa's bodywork like a hot knife through butter.

  The rider's hood twists around as the car tries to sputter back to life, still functional after all that damage. Impressive, the tilt of the rider's head seems to say, although what little is visible of her face seems dubious. Hyrule has no such machinery. Her horse, spooked by the noise, shifts restlessly in place, stopped from shying only by a gloved hand laid reassuringly over the animal's neck.

  She flinches as the crippled Ferrari backs up from its own wreckage, backing her own horse away from the noise.

  Watching with some sympathy as the driver fumbles the hairband, the rider nonetheless holds her ground, although the point of the polished rapier is lowered non-threateningly. As non-threatening as such a weapon can be, anyway.

  The other's clothing is certainly different, but this isn't her first trip through the vines -- she doesn't stare at Rusalka's clothing, but past the girl and her crippled mechanical steed, to where the geometric embers are already dissipating on a cool spring breeze.

  At Rusalka's approach, the hood raises, incrementally. The rapier remains lowered, but at the same time, it also remains in the horseman's hand.

  You can never be too careful.

  She waits a short distance away, wind rustling the hem of that obscuring black robe. Only the lower half of her face is visible in its shadow; her mouth is pulled thin.

  "We are fine, thank you," she offers, graciously. Her enunciation is clear as a bell; her voice, while naturally quiet, carries well enough despite the distance. The hood turns just slightly, as though to look directly at the poor mangled Kometa. "I wish I could say the same of your own."

  The hood raises slightly. It's dead? Where did it go?

  "Ah. Yes. It is dead. Away," she explains, flicking her free hand nebulously. "They are not of this realm. Their bodies are destroyed upon death." The hood turns again to watch the last of the embers dissipate. "I do not know why, since we are now beyond any realms relevant to them."

  She glances back at the wreckage.

  "Do you require any assistance...? It is after all my fault your machine has been so grievously damaged." The hood turns slightly, to where the beast's body has lain until recently. She gestures toward the huge war-horse, scraping at the cracked pavement with a steel-shod hoof. "I can take you wherever you wish to go, if you know how to ride."

    A tactic that, had Rusalka understood, would have been deeply appreciated. The thought of those limbs punching through the glass and thin roof of the sportscar...well, the racing seatbelts are great for keeping a driver right in their seat. It also meant she'd never have had a chance, had it decided to tap-dance on her head.

    Sleek, and polished black -- almost mirrorlike in its shine, the sportscar shows clear attention paid to aesthetics. At least, from the front wheel back; the crumpled and partially peeled back bodywork shows a much more complex understructure. As well as one loose thick flap of rubber on that front wheel, squashed at the bottom and clearly flat compared to the others.

    It's that tire that gets the deepest frown and a grumbled half-moan from the driver, even more than the body damage. It's the engineer's assessment -- the latter can be smoothed out, eventually, but the former could mean being stranded in the hills. Not something she wants to consider, Sally thinks, even if she can call for help...but no. Already lies are spinning in her head, trying to explain just what happened. Both to herself and her family, in this case.

    The outfit is daunting at best. The cloak and hood give only the barest glimpse of just who the rider is, and the near-black color lends just the right ominous touch for a girl all alone on the road. It doesn't help she's just slightly reminded of that beast she'd just killed...

    The voice, unexpected and clear and possessed of a poise and clarity that speaks of nobility, gets her attention right off the damage to the car. Straightening up instinctively, the girl is clearly one who knows royalty -- and perhaps, despite her current attire, might just be part of her own blueblooded nature. A glance at the horse, watching the nervous beast shift, and then a long glance at the weapon in Zelda's hand. "That's good...that, yes." She wants to ask if there were more, but manages to stop before saying something dumb. If there were anything else that dangerous still around, would this rider be just...standing there?

    "So do I..." A morose look is given to the front end again, the buckled hood and crumpled fenders dancing in front of her. "It's going to take a month to get that returned to nominal. Oh, damn..." 

    Sally slumps a little against the side of the car, resting one hand against its roof as if to comfort a companion -- a gesture not unlike Zelda's own to soothe her horse. "Dead. Good. That...that thing was horrific. What IS it, and...and how did you manage to get it to come HERE?" There's something mildly accusatory in her tone, as if Zelda led the beast to this place -- but it would be clear to the elf princess that this one is no warrior. Shaken, and coming off a terrible fright, but no experience in battle. And maybe not quite understanding just what 'not of this realm' means.

    Still, the cool calm from the rider helps soothe rattled nerves. As does the regal voice, something Sally responds to instinctively. "The engine and drivetrain are alright, but." One hand gestures to the limp rubber tire. No wagon with a broken wheel is going anywhere, no matter how advanced the machine is. There's a hopeful tone in her voice as she glances at the hood of the car. "If the spare survived..."

    A long breath, as the girl tries to get her calm together before brushing thick loose bangs from her face, eyes squinting first at the giant equine, and then at Zelda's face, trying to make out details under the shadow of the hood. "I...do, in fact. Baba raises them at the estate." And with that, the strangely dressed girl drops into a slightly curious skirtless curtsey, finally greeting her companion properly. "I am Sally Stojespal, of the house of Stojespal. I apologize for my outburst earlier, Lady." Her gaze falls on the rapier for a second or three, studying it before nodding. She knows blades?

  Black seems to be the colour of the day. Black robe, black hood, black war-horse -- if not for glimpses here and there, it might seem an ominous figure indeed to come to the House Stojespal scion's aid.

  The hood turns slightly and the rider surveys the damage as the parts affected are rattled off. None of that actually means anything to her, but she can still file away the terms for later reference. She seems impassive in the face of Sally's sad warbling; already turning to look behind her, as though to confirm the road is still empty. It doesn't look like she's too concerned. There must have been only one.

  Despite the similar colours, the robe is a different from the slick, smooth black of the creature's hide. Its ornamental embroidery, worked in silver thread atop the black, is elegant.

  "I will see what reparations can be made," the rider finally states, looking down to the ruined car. "I have little at my disposal at present, but enough to offer."

  What was that thing?

  "That is, or was, a Twilight Messenger." The rider shifts her weight. "A beast of the Twilight Realm, come to stalk its quarry through the realm of Hyrule, and so beyond its realms into the boughs of the World Tree at large. Functionally, it is a monster, so far as we are aware."

  How did she get it to come here?

  "I did not. There is an element of unpredictability when traversing through the Vines that lead to other boughs of the World Tree," she admits, a little uncertainly. "I did not know to where I had led it, and so I sought to lead it away from any place that may be inhabited. They look strong, and are, but I have my ways of exterminating the beasts. I drew it along; that you were here was not expected, nor accounted for."

  No warrior, this, that much is clear. The young woman clucks her tongue and sighs. So. She has dragged a civilian into this matter. Not what she would have done if she had been in full control of her destination. A deserted world would have been much more optimal, or to take it back to where her allies could finish it off.

  The curtsey is watched coolly, and the sword remains in hand even as Rusalka goes through the trouble of introducing herself. She remains motionless for a long moment after names are given and apologies are issued, before finally inclining her head. The gesture is so faint, so subtly aristocratic, that this has to be some kind of noble; maybe even a royal.

  "My name is Sheik. I am, or was, a servant of the Royal Family of Hyrule." Her head bobs in abbreviated inclination. "A pleasure, Sally of House Stojespal. I will assume such a house is a native of this land, as I am not familiar with House Stojespal of Hyrule; there is no such house by that name that I am aware of." And while she doesn't say anything, there aren't many people more qualified to know if there were such a house or not. "Think nothing of it. It is a normal reaction when faced with such a creature."

  Her eyes flick down, though, to where Sally's gaze strays, to the rapier in her hand. With a flourish she reverses her grip on the hilt and sheathes it, folding her arms beneath the robe. "Will you ride double? While I fear Lynel has not the best manners, he will not hurt you, so long as I am the one to control him. Or shall we walk?"

    An icon of color in a black world, perhaps. Not as if the asphalt cares, matching the general color theme of everything else happily. But Sally's red shoes, khaki shorts, and white leather jacket are a definite contrast and bright spot compared to the others. Such is fashion.

    The mention of reparations gets a distant wave of the hand. "No, no need." Momentarily, Rusalka doubts if the visitor could even afford the bill in the first place, but...a glance over the horse, and the sword, and all the subtle ornate finery makes her second-guess her first assumption. "It is not unaffordable, and most of it will simply be work. Cutting away, perhaps some welding and rewiring, and a lot of time aligning things."

    Technical words, but the meaning is clear. She's more than just a good driver, it seems. And with one last look at the deflated tire, Sally sighs and makes her way to the crumpled nose of the car as Zelda explains.

    "Hyrule? From the vines...that is not a world I have found." And then she pauses, placing one foot tentatively in spots on the car before planting it firmly and tugging hard on a large panel. "I haven't...seen...the whole...tree--"

    CLUNK.

    Something snaps, and the hood lifts, sending her half-sprawling backwards but barely maintaining her feet...and smiling. A tiny bit, anyway. "Twilight Messenger...it looked, hm. Wrong." She reaches in, undoing various contraptions holding a spare wheel in the front of the vehicle, and with a grunt lifts it free.

    There's a nod at the Hyrule woman's explanation. "I understand, actually. The vines are difficult to navigate, but..." She smiles, a little more warmly and seriously for the first time. "I've been exploring them, for the past...six? Seven months? I did not know there was a connection right there I admit, but...I suppose it could have turned out worse."

    It could have simply appeared overhead and flattened her like a pancake, in all fairness. Rolling the wheel to the side of the car, she nods and then brushes her hair aside again, puffing at it in annoyance. "Lady Sheik, then. It is my pleasure and honor, even if...well." Even if their meeting had been just a little bit downright terrifying and life-threatening. Such is life in the World Tree, it seems.

    "I do not know Hyrule, I am afraid. Polyuchyn is the local town, my family's holding." A curiously fluid word, almost sing-song in its name. "The last of the noble families, perhaps, but tradition is something they cling to." The momentary grimace that passes her face as she retrieves curious looking tools from the opening in the car says a lot of what she thinks of said traditions.

    Hypocritical, perhaps, to cast such aspersions on the family status while literally swimming in that same wealth and power, but Sally is nothing if not strangely stubborn.

    The offer to ride gets a curious perk as the scion looks over the horse again. "I'm sure he's big enough that we could both ride, but...let me see if this works first. The engine runs, the clutch and transmission felt alright, but I'm worried about the brakes and alignment..." Babblebabble technobabble. It might sound like incantation components, but engineers are merely one more subset of wizards after all. Rules lawyers of reality, in a way. "If not, I suppose I'll need that ride..." A bit of a wan smile before she squats down on tiptoes, getting to work removing the damaged wheel.

    "At least that thing didn't get any closer to town. I'm sure it could have been dealt with," she adds, thinking of the local police and...local less organized armed forces, "but it'd have made a mess first. At least I can...kind of explain what happened," she says.

  As Rusalka explains what will go into the vehicle's reconstruction, the rider's hood twists towards the ruined car again. Kometa's warped and twisted chassis looks a mess. It's going to be out of commission for quite some time, by the look of things.

  "I see," the rider says, simply, and while there's no way for her to know the intricacies of car repair, there's still a certain understanding in her voice; in that simple acknowledgement. The significance is not lost on her.

  "From the vines," the rider confirms, hooded head inclining once. "A place very different from this, and yet not so different, in some ways." The hoped head shakes slowly. "I do not think any have seen the whole of the Tree, certainly not in its entirety."

  At the sudden separation, the horse tosses its head, harness jingling, and pricks its ears. The rider doesn't so much as move, looking down at the mess.

  "They are wrong." Again, a simple affirmation, yet there is such venom that drips from that elegant voice and those well-enunciated words; an acknowledgement of that truth that rings deeper than mere confirmation. She knows those things are wrong, and knows it with every fibre of her being. "Mindless hunters, and set to their target with all of the single-mindedness of a hound trained as a wolf-killer. They are possessed of animal cunning, though, and they are clever enough in their limited capacity. How they track their quarry, I do not know."

  The hooded head shakes again. "Sheik. I possess no title. Ah. Traditions. Yes." The head tilts very slightly, perhaps noting Rusalka's distaste, but not commenting on it.

  She simply waits as the Stojespal scion tests her machinery, patient as she moves to vault back up onto the saddle; a single effortless motion as she settles the robe around herself. "At your leisure," she says, simply.

  "I would have led it away. It will not stray. I am its quarry, and its kind, but I cannot speak more of that here." The hood turns toward Rusalka again. "Let me know if you require transport, but I must leave, soon. I would not attract more of those monsters here. If I keep moving, I believe it is more difficult for them to find me."

    Out of commission for a while, yes...but behind the crestfallen looks and the very clear possessiveness of the girl towards the automobile, there's also something else that the Hyrulian has seen -- a master craftsman being given a project, sizing it up and estimating the work that will go into it.

    As Rusalka gets to work replacing the tire, she listens carefully. Keeping focused on the repairs is helping settle her down, after the particularly violent end of the black monster, and helping her hands to steady. "The vines," she repeats, nodding. "I have...tried. I have come to many branches of it, many of its portals. Many in quite strange and unique places, I should add."

    Some of them with truly beautiful vistas...some of them nightmares to be avoided. "Perhaps I have a talent for finding them, or perhaps they are simply so common. Or perhaps it is merely terrible misfortune and bad luck," she adds with a cynical laugh and a caress of the tire. Perhaps it is good luck, instead, that she were here to help this Sheik stop the beast, she thinks.

    In that case, let me be lucky enough to drive a tank instead!

    When Sheik mentions she needs to get moving, to be on the path in case there are more of these things hunting her, Sally turns back worried. "You are sure? There is...no great fortress, but at least a police, and our private militia. If another appears when you are alone, what will you do?"

    Sally looks back down at the car, the pieces of metal and plastic lying in a heap where the tire once was. "If you came back, at least I would have an alibi...and not just have to admit I crashed." Well, maybe she could say it was a deer. Or a bear. Or something...but it would have been nice. "You won't stay then?"

    A few more turns on the wrench finishes her work, and she lugs the destroyed tire back into the vehicle's...surprisingly oddly shaped cargo bay. It's definitely no good as a wagon, but it has other benefits. Sally stands, finally, hands covered in black dust and other road-grit, brushing them off before holding them up hesitantly.

    "I would say thank you...but well, I am not..." Not the cleanest, or the most composed. A shake of the head clears her thoughts as she produces a small rag and gets the worst of it off. "But...I suppose, if you are ever in this branch again, please feel free to visit. Had that creature run rampant, without your help..."

    Unpleasant thought.

  The hooded rider looks on in silence, listening as the other explains the vines and their treachery. She is silent for a long moment, the hood tilting very slightly as though in consideration.

  "Some are located in impossible, remote areas. Others appear where there are are no reasons for them to be there." She shakes her head a little. "I have stopped trying to find patterns in their natures. I do not know that there are any."

  Turning with a sweep of the robe's silver-accented hem, she surveys the crippled machine, before turning back to regard her horse, placidly cropping grass on the side of the road, flicking an ear indifferently at the commotion. She turns, and in a single motion she vaults back up to the saddle and settles in.

  "A fortress would not stop them, at any rate. Nor will your police, or your militia. Possibly they may slow it down. If another appears if I am alone I will deal with it as I have continued to deal with them." The hood swings towards Rusalka again. There's a slight clatter as she pats the quiver of arrows at her hip. "I will kill it. If you require an alibi, I will accompany you, but I must leave thereafter. I must return to my allies."

  She watches as the Stojespal girl lugs the tire around, before finally shaking her head one last time. "It would have been stopped, eventually, but the cost may have been high. There are no more of them, but they follow me. I do not believe there are any more of them. Now I must go. Farewell, Sally Stojespal." The hooded head bobs. "Our paths may cross again, someday, if the goddesses will it."

  Turning the horse around, she touches her heels to the animal's ribs, and the beast surges forward with a spray of gravel from beneath its hooves, rider crouched low over its neck, running full steam for the vine.

  What an odd meeting.