Fear is such a strange thing. It is abstract and yet tangible, a thick and compressing weight lining the lungs and stomach like lead and making existence itself nigh impossible. It hangs in the air, a presence in its own right, and causes dissent and unrest, seeding doubt and revulsion even between the closest of brothers and leaving devastation in its wake. How much more damage could it do then, between two warrior strangers in an eerie marshland? The answer to this question Kneph did not know, but he was sure that he did not want to find out. From the get go it had been clear to him that the female was afraid. Perhaps not afraid in the stricter form of the word, but more in the sense that she was weary of him, her suspicions as thick as the silence that covered them both in its unrelenting clutches. Her eyes spoke her feelings clearly enough, and Kneph allowed his pristine, pale embers to share his thoughts as well, lest the girl decide his motives to be questionable. She furrowed her brow in contemplation as his attention strayed from her to his other unbidden companions, and he fought to keep his attention centered. He knew instinctual that her eyes were not open as his were, that she (like so many others he had met) did not see what he saw. It had not even occurred to him, however, that the images may be figments of his own imagination. Why should it, when their voices were so real, their comments so scathing and their hovering visages so formidable? They, in their turn, continued to throw taunts at him, but seemed unwilling to follow through with the previous threat they had made, a fact which brought him unimaginable relief.

The female, who still had not stated her name or her reason for approaching him, continued to stare obtrusively at Kneph, following his gaze into the marshes and seeing nothing but water smoking in the dappled sunlight. Her rough voice broke the quiet again, to query his motives. He noticed her muscles bunch in readiness beneath her pelt, and he smirked to himself. Was he truly that strange? Nevertheless, he could not allow her (offensive or not), to continue to flounder in ignorance without rhyme or reason. It had come time to let her know his stance on things. Making certain she was watching him, he opened his jaws and made a gruff noise that always reminded him of the sound prey makes before it dies, a kind of gruff squeal which did not seem to have emanated from such a warrior as he. He then proceeded to shrug helplessly and shut his jaws again, a generally excepted and widely understood sign for being mute. Of course, this speech impediment did not render him entirely incapable of communication. Feeling as thought the time for niceties had passed by unnoticed, Kneph dipped his head in greeting before tilting his chin, an unspoken question on his lips,
why have you come here?
He figured that would be easy enough for the dark ess to understand. While he waited for her to decipher his message, the ghosts around him unceremoniously dragged him back into their Para-reality, refusing to be forgotten for long,

“Why don't you speak with us, cur?”
“Yes! Or why not invite us to speak with her? We could easily say what you could not. Don't you want her to know how long it has been since your last successful mating season? Maybe she will stand for you when so many others ran back to their dens”

Kneph cringed but did not deign to snarl at them, for he did not wish to disclose his seemingly unstable mental condition with a complete stranger. Which reminded him, he did not yet know her name. He gestured to her chest with one paw and seemed to shrug, willing her to understand his question, while he again allowed himself to wonder what she was doing in the depths of the marshes.