Even if you save her this time, what makes you think you can keep her in this world for much longer? What is there for her here? My thoughts wash over yours.
Ignoring the cat, you listen for Black Tarn's howls as they echo through the woods, carried across the gap between worlds. You follow the sound deeper into the forest, until you see a shadow between the trees.
"Black Tarn!" you shout, making your voice firm. "Come back to us!"
"Come back to what, Tavypib?" the old woman snaps. Her voice is all around you. "To Clay's sullen rages and Scarper's cruel jokes? To this dead world, that we failed to protect?"
That she's even responding to you, rather than drifting away to the stars, is something. You know enough not to debate Black Tarn when she's in one of her moods. Instead, you keep your voice calm but authoritative, the way powerful spirits are supposed to speak.
"Come back to us, Black Tarn. We need your help. Who was this Bane? Where did it come from? There are so many questions."
"From the east, I think," Black Tarn says, her voice hesitant.
You've got her. One thing you've learned about theurges in general and Black Tarn in particular is that if you ask one a question, they'll want to answer.
"What is to the east?" you ask. "Another pack?"
"All dead," Black Tarn says, her voice drifting through the spirit-woods. "You should know that. You should know so many more things. When I get back, I'll talk to Clay about how little he's…how little…"
Time to push.
"Let's get back to Clay," you say.
"He hasn't done enough for you," Black Tarn says. A shadowy hand reaches out between two saplings. "I'm always telling him that. Maybe he has his reasons. But when we get back, Clay and I—"
You grab the hand and pull, and Black Tarn tumbles back into the physical world, landing in ankle-deep snow. The eastern sky is brighter. How long have you been seeking her? And when you look around, the cat is gone. There's a little sizzle in your brain as your thoughts settle back into their accustomed shape. But don't worry; I'll be keeping my eye on you, cub.
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