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It takes a lot of effort for Blake to not scream in utter frustration and confusion as she’s bound up against a tree branch by a colony of mice. Weiss is next to her, in the same predicament as she is, wriggling around like a worm out in the open air. Honestly, when Blake had attempted to reach Gambal Shroud, she didn’t expect Weiss to take such a backseat and resort to simply shouting “woohoo” and “hooray” as she further reached out for her weapon. She wishes she could see Yang once more, she’d find it hilarious how they’re tied up like a chicken ready to go into the oven. To hold her hand would be pretty nice too, maybe even a kiss.
Yet, fate or whatever bullshit excuse decides to be nice. Ruby appears from the bushes, with a little mouse companion in the hood of her cape. There’s barely any reaction, aside from stopping in her tracks and nudging the little guy by her neck. She stares, like Salem is right behind them all or she’s witnessed someone’s death. Not Yang’s, Yang is alive. She’d know if Yang was dead. Ruby stands still, unmoving until the mouse jumps out in surprise, maybe at the fact that there’s someone who resembles a cat. She doubts it however, since the mice who captured (what a ridiculous situation) her had described the two of them as their adversaries.
Luckily for Ruby, she doesn’t get the same treatment as she and Weiss did. After an animated explanation by the mouse that Ruby refers to as ‘Little’, they’re free from the viney restraints and are free. Still missing Yang, they try consulting the mice if they’ve spotted her.
“Long, blonde hair. Looks kinda scary but isn’t?” she ignores the small scoff from Weiss, knowing that she’s fed up of their what she calls ‘gallivanting behaviour”. Her ears droop a little when the chief mouse tells them that they have not seen her, but promises to tell the group if they do the next time they meet.
It would be easy to find Yang if their scrolls were working in this bizarre world. It would be easy if they weren’t having to go up against an unknown creature with striped grey horns, a tail too long for it to be good and a voice that makes her blood run cold. Seeking. Searching. Scouring . Aside from the lovely use of alliteration that would make literature professors go wild, she steels her hand to stop shaking as it continues its jerky movements, head turning unnaturally with its stiff movements. Ruby hangs back, defenceless without Crescent Rose. A defeated look in her eyes, something she takes a note of and will address once they get rid of this thing in front of them.
The thing realises their weapons are drawn against it and takes no time taking the initiative, using both legs to leap towards them. It’s coming in her direction, tail swinging up and down as it accelerates towards her. Since she didn’t particularly feel like becoming Faunus mincemeat, she takes a swing at the thing, hoping that it’s scarier than it actually is. It easily manages to block her attack with a hand (or is it a claw?) and she struggles to stay steady even with two hands supporting the blade. She’s about to tell Weiss to use some of the little dust she has so they can get out of this without any injuries when she hears a voice she may have never had heard again.
“I said, I wasn’t done with you yet!” The creature draws back, focus shifted to someone she prays is her. A rock the size of her head smashes onto its head, breaking away upon impact.
Yang stands before them, unharmed but armless. She puts up her arm into a guard position, edging closer towards the creature. The rest follow in action, closing in onto them. They’re a couple seconds away from attacking when the creature runs, hissing out words in the same horrid fashion as it did before. Retreat. Wait. Return. They watch it leap over the cliff and disappear, only a rustle of leaves and rock debris to show that it was ever even there.
Sheathing away Gambal Shroud, looks at the sight before her. Yang, unscathed. The same leather jacket they had chosen out in Atlas, purple bandana strapped around her leg, a little higher than before. It was probably adjusted. The same golden locks of hair that she chose to keep whilst she chopped her own away. The gloves on her hands that she knows the feel of, the purple eyes that can shine a brilliant red. She can’t stop the legs that run, the arms reaching forwards as she tackles her into the ground. Blake knows that Yang won’t be hurt. Yang who listened to her, Yang who fought with her, Yang who lost an arm for her, Yang who stood against him with her. Yang, Yang,
“Yang.” The softest touch strokes her head and tightens the hug. She smells home.