Ankyra Sound hūrenkon

He is not a fan of the sunlight. There is nothing wrong with him for having a preference, although it is odd that such a creature would be so obviously avoidant; he seeks the cool shadow and watches her from the safety of the darkness, letting his eyes adjust again. There are blots of blue-orange across his vision but they fade, and she comes in to focus again.

Her question is odd to him. The intonation, the evidence of care present despite their lack of connection. Why did it take hundreds of miles of travel to find such a creature as this? But the ghost does not dwell; he refuses to make connections between this shadow and the last - although he is reminded of a name suddenly, as the wind sweeps between the cedars - Sithi.

Looking briefly to the sky, he watches the last of the autumn leaves tremble. It is as if the wind is giving away a secret; when he glances at the stranger (curious if she could hear what he could, if the stories of the north had been brought this far) and he only sees concern upon her features. There is no understanding. Good.

The specter clears his throat softly and with a breathy (if a bit chilling) tone states, Finne ajjin jin? Then, with a frigidity reserved only for the cold-blooded, he watched her with an expectant - perhaps even hungry - glint in his eye.