The explosion of sound and colour above him makes him instinctively put up a hand; the multitude of colourful tinsel and smoke fall around him in an arch, but don't touch him. It is through this veil of smoke that he glimpses the Medicine Seller, and realizes with some subdued surprise that this man is the dreamer--not the masked one who had been following him.

"I do not often see others here. ...You are not a spirit."

"Clearly not."

He lowers his hand, then pushes it to the side as though moving aside a curtain; in response, a low wind blows and sweeps the smoke and tinsel away. Approaching the edge of the dais, he steps off of it onto a flight of wooden steps that rise up from the ground to meet each of his steps. Down the stairs he descends, and approaches the Medicine Seller with avid interest; around him, the chairs scuttle out of his way on deer-like feet.

Atticus stops some meters away from the oddly dressed elf, then turns his head to the side to find that masked face still watching him from the treeline. He frowns, though it's hidden behind his own mask. "This is," he begins in a musing, pensive, and not entirely unthreatened voice, "peculiar magic."

He turns his stare back on the Medicine Seller. "If this is your dream, then who is it who accompanies you? How have you transported another here into the Fade with you?"