Moonspear Is there a spirit that spits upon the exit of signs.

His mouth was dry. He edged himself closer to the slab of shadow cutting across the dirt, reaching out to sniff at the smooth stone and then dab his tongue across it. The rain had brought out the cool blue tones of the flat stone, and he felt the moisture collected across its pock-marked surface gather on his tongue.

As he swallowed, the behemoth took another breath. A warm twinning of scents swam to the forefront of his attention, contrasting against the woodsy aromas of autumn and the minerality of the rain. Revui felt the hairs stand on his nape. He peered around, his mind a little bit foggy from whatever herbs lay scattered nearby.

He saw the grey face of a stranger - sharp eyes that looked moodier with the backdrop of light rain - and then a voice, but the voice came from a different angle. The stranger's dark face reminded him vaguely of Merrick's; this one had two eyes, and they looked colder than the water-stone.

"You are awake. It has been some time." They said. It was not a voice he recognized. The faces were not faces he knew, either. He gave them as much mental investment as he might bestow a pest, such as a raven zeroing in on a kill. They held the familiar scents of his sister and that alone kept him docile.

That said, Revui wasn't exactly in fighting form, if that's what they came about. He grunts in response to the words, but that is all.