((Following Sondayga))
A fylgia enters from the southwest, floating upon flickering hooves.
To gaze at the fylgia is akin to looking through fog or mist. It is difficult to focus on her presence before you, your mind continually sliding away from her existence. Her form is translucent, ever-changing, barely holding the outline of a ghostly doe with a multitude of features - eyes that are sad, joyous, furious, concerned, loving all at once; pelts of many shades; ages that ranges from the youngest fawn to the eldest of deer. Tendrils of curling silver light extend from her body outwards in all directions, giving her the appearance of wearing a tattered, wind-blown cloak. A fylgia seems to be unafraid.