Dragoncrest Cliffs last night i dreamed i was shot

ich...?

the stranger displays visible confusion at geist's native tongue and with a soft furrow of frustration settling between his brows the bone-ivory creature prepares to return to the otherworldly mists that writhe 'round their paws, breaking around the fresh water source their paths cross at. he is stalled as the other male speaks more common gibberish to him and makes a demonstration of how to eat the bird. the implication that he does not know how to eat bird would be amusing if being around a stranger did not bring up deep seeded discomfort.

— rabe. wo bist du? wo bist du, schwester?

as if he the pleading questions could transcend his mind and breach into her own. despite that he was the more talkative of the pair ...prior to the hellfire, at least, he drew comfort from her presence that none other gives him.

the scent of meat wafts towards geist from the bird's open wound but his gaze does not leave the stranger who continues to try to bridge the language gap. that particular chasm yawns wide and deep. geist does not bother to speak again; settles for staring blankly at the stranger — memory — not that the name draws with it any sort of language recognition. simply; geist assumes it is his name because of the implication of importance placed upon it in the tones the stranger uses.