Storm Watch Butte You are the little fang

Soto's gift would never meet Toula.

Her departure back to Akashingo included a stop in the open desert. A pocket of sand was scratched in the dirt. The drooping pelt was dropped there, and the mink dropped head to its open contents. The aroma was intense! Strong! She reeled back and dropped down cleanly onto her stomach, only to rise again and lean towards not the many spices, but a strange, ground up powder.

Flinching from it a second time, whiney laughter like that of a hyenas anxiously ticked out her throat. Tail, thrashing.

Laughter drew her from her reverie.

The wraith drifted toward the sound as if drawn to some dark flame, a flickering mirage of desert dreams turned surreal. No — real. Wasn't it?

Wasn't she real?

Manea tilted her head toward the woman, uncertain now. Her lips parted briefly as if she might speak, but she thought better of it. Suppose it wasn't real? Suppose she was caught talking to herself by someone truly real? She wondered if she would even know the difference.

Still, her gaze never left the shadowy figure.

She scrambled the pelt to a close and covered over it with venom! Mine, mine, mine! Spraying up fur and twitching the tip of her tail along the sands, the goblin Yaret's ears shot down to her scalp. She played a fox guarding its newfound trinket, or in this case, the spices and strange aromas from the bag. "HEH?!"

A strange woman who watched. 

Legend, too, could be a strange woman who watched.

"Who.. Whooo," words cramped up in the Yaret's brain. All scrunkly and dumb, things like that! All the dumb common speak words that seemed to leave unless there was an extensive need to run her mouth.

Aggression faded quickly into confusion, and a softer voice than the prickly display that had first been flaunted. Who! "Who yah be?"