[ Ipsen doesn't hear you, but the kitten does. the unnatural shift in the wind roars in his feline ears as you rush forward.

you're you, as tangible and visible as you are in the pasture, and you don't need ground contact for a beastkin to sense you.

the kitten whirls around, immediately assuming a defensive stance, eyes flickering between you, the staff in your hand, and possible escape routes. (it's a desert. there are many.)

there's — a recognition in his eyes. ]

... You shouldn't be here.