Mosca glanced at Gregory, as they rushed through the woods. "So that's her, eh? Your highborn ladyfriend?"
Gregory nodded. "Uh-huh."
Gwendolyn turned towards them and cupped her hand to her mouth. "Oy, sluggards! Hurry it up! We will leave your corpses behind if you're a burden to us!"
Mosca shook his head. "What did you do to her, Gentleman?"
"Huh?" grunted Gregory as he rushed ahead.
"To turn a highborn noble lady into... this bitter, mad wild woman?" said Mosca.
Gregory paused to look at his associate. "She was always like this."
"You know I can hear you," drawled Gwendolyn. "And Gregory Tyne the fact that you tacitly agreed with that description shall bring you untold agonies in the near future."
Gregory gave a slight cough as he reached her side. "My apologies, Gwen. I was simply stating that you are... more or less as I left you."
"Oh, he's not all wrong," said Gwendolyn. "I am far madder, and more bitter than the idealistic young girl you knew."
Gregory stiffened. "That is a terrifying notion."
Gwendolyn leaned forward. "Untold agonies."
"We should really get going to the Captain," muttered Mosca. "Tell him that the plan succeeded beyond our wildest hopes." He glanced at Gwendolyn. "To a degree at least."
Gwendolyn sighed. "You just have to understand--once you get outside of Ys, most Tintagelian nobles like very simple things. We race around the country, we shoot things, and if they aren't trees or humans, we cook and eat them."
Gregory nodded in agreement. "It's truly an idyllic life."