Welcome to Sundown

All at once, those green eyes were no longer fireflies of flame in the shadow — they were right in front of her, piercing into her as though seeing straight into her soul, the ghoul himself looming over her.

Ada recoiled with a gasp of a cry. Her back struck rough bark, and she shrank downward from there, cowering on the mossy soil between the roots once more as wide eyes stared up at him in pure terror.

What had he said? Something about materials? Was he angry? She couldn’t tell, and her face paled further with the uncertainty of it all, her overworked heart thudding painfully fast in her chest. Her tightly-gripped satchel now shielded both her chest and her chin in an instinctive attempt at protection.

And yet, despite everything, her gaze fixed upon his cloak briefly with a faint flicker of wonder. A cloak of night and tendrils of darkness… she’d never seen anything quite like it. What was it made of? What sort of charm made it move that way? Could she meet its creator and flood them with questions?

Anger stirred in the ghoul and existed as naturally as water did in a pond. It wasn't directed at the messenger fae in particular; at least not yet.

As he took his time wondering if the faerie was hard of hearing, a gust of wind blew in their direction, gently pushing and - specifically - creating distance between the ghoul and the cowering fae. Sow'in recognized the isle's magickal pulse right away, the top of his lip lifting into a sneer.

"Tch."

The ghoul stepped back, an ivory hand producing itself from under the black cloak. He did not care to realize that the ends of his cloak were still reaching out towards the messenger, as if curious and still itching for a touch.

Sow'in repeated himself, though with some added clarity. "Ah'm interested in studyin' this creature," he said as clawed fingers held his chin, half-pondering and half-asking. "You said the Huntsmaster wishes to capture the beast alive. Tell me, what usually befalls the game of the Huntsmaster?"