Barrow Fields it's brains without hearts have set saint against sinner

the white-cloaked figure seems to emerge from the mist itself - blix had not realised yet she isn't alone and she makes a surprised noise between a squeak and a yelp, falling back over hew paws. "a ghost," the gona breathes out a whisper, then shakes her head. that's - that's silly. no such thing. "you're not, right?" she asks, her voice decidedly not trembling. ghosts aren't real, she reminds herself. 

if they were, though, they'd definitely live here. cautiously she lowered her ruddy paw to the mound once more, glancing at the spectre. "do you know... are these graves?" she asks, not sure if she wants to know the answer.