“Nor I,” Atticus replies, savoring the foreign taste of the smoke on his tongue. He shifts his eyes back to the face of the masked apparition still lurking within the line of paper trees several metres away. A moment later, and the Medicine Seller is the recipient of Atticus’ intense focus again, his peculiarly pale blue eyes studying the shape of the elf in front of him as though searching it for some indication of just what he is.

He offers him his pipe back; he may be a monster, but he’s not a greedy one. “You can affect the Fade,” he notes softly, recalling the show of fireworks that the Medicine Seller had made of the splash of color Atticus had painted across the air. “Are you somniari, or a spirit yourself?” He doubts the latter.