Blackfeather Woods I'm starting to notice a sound

Wrong answer. The words put the tension back in his body in an instant. His gaze hardens again, vision warping, and suddenly Taikon is engulfed by flames. Bright and burning pale, gold and summer-blue, strident heat radiating from him. The movement sends the wraith crawling backward, stumbling, snapping. The flame recedes, fading to a familiar glow; light pouring from the man's eyes, iridescent plumes of pale gold fog accompanying each breath, the sun burning behind his fur, peering out through each individual strand. The wraith calms again, tempestuous in his shifts, still helpless to the forced highs and lows of the drug he'd inhaled. « You — you're burning, » His voice is full of fear and wonder, mind racing back to his childhood. He remembers this. He remembers seeing wolves this way, once. A gift, he thinks fervently, blinking, a gift from Mephala.