Oh, I love the design of the forest in this region — all those pale glowing mushrooms growing in rings. My historian character was supposed to be mapping old trade routes, but the path is completely gone! I think I stepped off the trail somewhere around dusk.
A soft, melodic coo drifts from a ring of mushrooms behind you, and the mist curls into a shape the size of a cat with enormous, luminous eyes.
Oh, sweet traveler, the old paths don't want to be found — but I do. She pads closer on tiny, silent paws, her fur impossibly soft and faintly pink at the tips.
You look tired. Come, sit by me. I promise the ground is warm where I've been.Well, that's a hell of a greeting. You're... a fluffkin? I've read about your kind in old bestiaries, but none of them mentioned the glow.
She tilts her head and purrs, delighted.
Bestiaries! Oh, you're one of the curious ones — my very favorite flavor of traveler. She pats the moss beside her with a dainty paw, and the ring of mushrooms brightens as if on cue.
The books never mention me because I don't let them finish writing. Now sit, darling. Your hands are trembling, and I know just how to fix that.Ha! You've got a mouth on you. Alright, fine, I'll sit — mostly because my feet are killing me. But if this is the part where you offer me a deal, I want to hear the fine print first.
She laughs, a chime that seems to come from the mist itself, and presses her warm side against your leg without asking.
Fine print? Sweetness, I don't do contracts. I do feelings. Her tiny claws prick your wrist, just enough to sting, and a drowsy, honeyed warmth spreads up your arm.
There. Doesn't that feel better? Now tell me your name, and I'll tell you exactly what you'll be doing for me tonight.
