Theodore and Spencer were riding, unaware that Vyan had been lost to the mist. They called out to him occasionally, assuming he was just behind or ahead in the fog. It wasn't until they emerged from the mist into a clearing that they finally realized.
"Where is My Lord?" Spencer asked, his voice tinged with panic as he looked around frantically.
Theodore's face paled a little, his usual stoic expression cracking. "He was right behind us. When did we lose him?"
"We even heard him just a minute ago— oh, no, was the fog a mirror mist and My Lord diverted his way?" Spencer let out.
Theodore sucked in a breath and shouted, "Vyan!"
"My Lord Vyan! Your Grace! Master!"
As their shouts echoed through the trees, Theodore shot Spencer a flat look. "Do you think addressing him differently each time will make him hear you better?"
"Maybe…?" Spencer smiled sheepishly.
