Nocturne Summit this little piggy went to the liquor store

praimfaya whips her head back to look for the apparition to find, with a sinking in her heart, that he is gone. no. not gone. just ...not visible. linkoln is always with her, she knows this. as her head turns back to face her companion, linkoln is forgotten about with the pass of a few heartbeats and the slow blink of her frostbound eyes. the shadowed man emits tendrils of black smoke ...or is it fire?! ( she cannot be sure ) that writhe and curl into the soft mossglow around them. his golden eyes taking on a quality that reminds her of the sun.

why are there three of you? he asks. her reaction time heavily slowed, she does not recoil from his snout boop until it follows thru and even then she only jerks her head back and blinks owlishly at him. i'm — she drawls. nou ste. she protests. there is not three of me. she translates a bit perplexed, as if only remembering that he likely did not speak trigedasleng.

are you a dokwocha? she asks. a ghost? she clarifies, thinking that even as it leaves her lips ...he can't be. it felt very real when he nose booped her. caution gone with the wind and determined to answer her own question, praimfaya seeks to invade his personal space and, should he allow it, press her nose to his cheek in an attempt to see if she would meet flesh or if her nose would pass right thru.