Her eyes are fixed on the distant horizon; a narrowed, predatory stare, watching for movement. Beside her, Zora stirs. She doesn't look. She doesn't respond, either, except to smack her again (this time, just for fun).

Gladiator moves, hauling herself to sand speckled paws. She stalks low, carving a wide circle around their position, caution etched into the hard line of her body. She watches and listens for any immediate threat to both their lives, a truly unnecessary precaution that she really doesn't think will help in this particular scenario but preforms anyway. The familiarity is... grounding.

She could still taste the blood on her tongue.

Did we get kidnapped? She asked, finally letting her gaze fall on the princess, confident that the perimeter was secure. I thought they were only supposed to take you.