Pheres's skin is fever hot against yours, and if it weren't for that, you'd wonder if he was dead. His eyes certainly look like it: behind the lenses, they're pale as bone, with little pinpricks of pupil. You've never seen an adult with eyes like yours before! Usually they're all filled in with colour.

"I like your eyes," you tell him as he touches his second set of horns to yours, and you're about to say more, see if he's maybe only part dead, but then Castor drops you.

It's not a big fall. You land effortlessly, knees tucking to absorb the impact, and pivot around to hiss at him. Castor looks unimpressed. "He's sparking. And you'll tire yourself out if I hold you up forever," he points out, folding his arms.

It's true enough. You can't use your own telekinesis, although none of your ghosts have ever been able to explain why: only the leashed ghosts can use it, and even though you're not doing anything, it still takes a toll. And after a morning of mail delivery and no snacks or sleep, even the small stuff matters right now.

"Besides, you still need to greet the other." Castor's still talking. You squint at him, questioning. You don't like highbloods! They're huge, and big, and scary, and Castor's only okay because he's dead. He's never had a problem with that before, and at your look, he explains: "Their symbolhight is yellow."

Huh.

Well, okay.

You turn to the big yellowblood and trot over, but once you're standing in front of them, shyness strikes. They're really, really big: only a few inches shorter than Castor, and he's the biggest troll, dead or alive, you've ever seen. He's standing right behind you, and you can feel the impatience radiating as he waits for you to give him the sign, but all you can do is stall.

This troll might be yellow - but they're still really, really big.