The pair of them exited the arena. Handy winced as the sun hit his eyes, and he angled his helmet. Everyone else winced as the glare of the sunlight hitting his armour burned their eyes in turn. It wouldn’t last, for there was to be a short shower of rain scheduled for the afternoon, and clouds were already being rolled in. The pair made their way back to Handy's tent, and as the human approached the tent flap, holding his head as the last remnants of the hangover made their final, desperate bid to prolong his misery, he heard whispering coming from within. "Crimson?" he asked as he entered the dark tent.