Jeram was not overly fond of spirit creatures who attacked him with pointed teeth. In fact, he had a mind to kill the girl, if that's what the creature was. However he was superstitious enough to pause and he was human enough to feel pity for the frail thing. As he lifted his bow to shoot, the creature lifted its hands in what he could only guess as a protective gesture of fear and surrender. Its fingers quaked and blood began to trickle down its white arms.
Jeram cursed himself for being so soft.
At the sound of its voice, soft and pitiful, Jeram could only throw his arms in the air and scoff. Jeram looked down at his own sopping clothes while the spirit pleaded in an incomprehensible volume. He wondered how he got himself into this mess, how he could get out and more importantly, how he was supposed to find and kill the Bonacon when he was clearly going to die of hypothermia first.
Jeram growled and was about to leave to make a fire when the spirit creature caught his attention. "My kin," the spirit moaned. "My brother. Please. My brother." Jeram stared. The spirit had curled up, hugging its knees to its chest, pale hair cascading in wet threads down its face. Its toes dug into the ground and its ears twitched restlessly like a cat's. "Help," it continued. Jeram frowned.
Hadn't he helped enough? Hadn't he just saved its sorry life?
Jeram picked up his crossbow and walked away. He was cold and the creature's milky eyes were beginning to make him feel uneasy.