Mou watched as the trees danced. He thought the shadows looked so very solid across their reaching trunks, and they seemed to dance in opposition to the physical world. The trees would tremble and the shadows would sit across them as if to constrict them, but the more he watched the more he felt the darkess was separate of them—settling across the trees in order to constrain them, maybe reaching in their own right for the stars.

The boy was intently (or as intently as he could given his mental state and drug abuse) staring up at the sky when the ghost arrived. He wouldn't have noticed her even if he had been sober; she was a child of this forest, she knew how to move through it without being discovered. There were secrets here that the dark held for its beloved children, and thus far Mou was not one of them. But when the girl launched herself at his hindquarters, Mou was taken by surprise.

He may have survived being tossed off a cliff, and nearly drowned by the sea, and nearly eaten by a bear over the course of multiple weeks, but everything had taken their tole—Fate had struck him down and earned a pound of flesh each time. His mind had been incapacited, his body, now his voice. Mou was still recovering. He would likely always be this frail boy who leaned too strongly upon the aid of the poppies—and this wiry little ghost was yet another twist of fate. As she came in to contact with his lower back he let out a boof of surprise and collapsed beneath her.

It didn't take much, but there was a pop.
He didn't notice as the feeling in his lower back began to fade.

The ghost was much more solid than he realized, and she went kareening off of his back and over him. The pinch of her teeth was a dull sensation but he felt it, at least until she let go and was tumbling. The aftermath wasn't very clear to Mou. He knew in the deepness of his mind that this wasn't a spirit of the forest but his mind was playing tricks, laced so strongly by the poppies he had been desperately using for support. He knew she wasn't a ghost—but he also didn't know what was happening.

She got up. He saw her silhouette in his good eye, creeping closer.
He didn't. Not immediately.

When Mou tried, he could feel the tensing of his hip muscles and a fleeting sensation of strain in his legs, but that faded almost as soon. It was a dreamy feeling. He thought, I have taken too much, and kept on trying to stand. He couldn't, and that should've frightened him.

What are you doing? The ghost asked. He had no idea what was happening or why, so he just sank to the earth as if it was his intention to lay down. It wasn't, but Mou couldn't think of anything else he could do in that moment. Really, he couldn't think at all.

She was looking at him, and he stared back at her. Pale eyes—empty things, the same color as the rest of her. He stared at her with his one good eye, and in his intoxicated state he saw through her. Yes, to him she was a real ghost. Perhaps she was the guardian of these woods.

He opened his mouth to say something but immediately forgot what that was, so he gawked for a bit instead. Then, as he found himself plastered against the crunching leaves and pine needles, he felt much better. Grounded. More attuned to parts of himself—and gradually, a pins-and-needles feeling in his lower back. Not quite reaching his limbs yet, but a hint that this was not permanent.