In lieu of a forthcoming handshake (they're not entirely sure about the logistics either, to be frank), they make an attempt at just sort of
tapping their hand against the stranger's, before withdrawing. A content sort of feeling arises from their mind; they seem happy to know that this new acquaintance of theirs is not hostile.
Images flit through their head that are not theirs; it's an unusual feeling to have, but not something wholly strange to them. They've walked in the dreams of others, before; this is simply less tactile.
In response, they show images of bugs skittering across the ground or walking with heavy steps, an orange fire burning in dark eyesockets. Abandoned underground paths glowing with fading lantern light, faded signs in a language foreign to the Liberator.
That feeling of hunger makes them pause, however. They'd left their pack back on the island, opting for speed and stealth - a knapsack that big would just weigh them down - but they rustle under their cloak and produce something that looks like dried fish on a stick, offering it to this stranger.
They don't get hungry nearly as often as others do, but if they know anything about fellow travelers, it's that everyone gets less food than they should.
no subject
tapping their hand against the stranger's, before withdrawing. A content sort of feeling arises from their mind; they seem happy to know that this new acquaintance of theirs is not hostile.
Images flit through their head that are not theirs; it's an unusual feeling to have, but not something wholly strange to them. They've walked in the dreams of others, before; this is simply less tactile.
In response, they show images of bugs skittering across the ground or walking with heavy steps, an orange fire burning in dark eyesockets. Abandoned underground paths glowing with fading lantern light, faded signs in a language foreign to the Liberator.
That feeling of hunger makes them pause, however. They'd left their pack back on the island, opting for speed and stealth - a knapsack that big would just weigh them down - but they rustle under their cloak and produce something that looks like dried fish on a stick, offering it to this stranger.
They don't get hungry nearly as often as others do, but if they know anything about fellow travelers, it's that everyone gets less food than they should.