Dragoncrest Cliffs last night i dreamed i was shot

has he spoken aloud?

for a moment geist lingers in the fade with the companion of uncertainty; not recalling giving voice to the plea for his sister but having not truly been paying attention either. his voice is as a stranger to him many and most days. regardless, the man launches into a flurry of common words that mostly bounce off of him as bullets against a bunker wall. occasionally, few lodge in and stick; ghost at it's helm. ghost; because it is the common translation of his name — thinking the male knows his name, bone ivory hackles bristle with further mistrust.

how does this stranger know his name?

it does not occur to geist that he is giving a physical description of another, too many words adrift in the translation, swallowed by the dark abyss of not knowing. there'd been no need to bother to learn common and thus geist had approached the feeble attempt at lessons lazily.

their conversation, as it started, remains nothing but a tangled and complicated web of inability to communicate. ❝woher weißt du meinen namen?❞ a smoky demand, that tastes like ash in his mouth as he spits the question out; a flurry of confusion and uncertainty that borderlines hostility pinpricking his words and further bristling the hair along his nape.