Something moves while Debrin sleeps. 

It's small. Skittering. Likely not the most threatening organism. But aggravating nonetheless. He's always been a light sleeper, prone to waking, and even for his short nap the softest noises rouse him now, moving him to only flicker an ear back and forth to trace the noise. His gear is wrapped up tight -- they'd have to make a lot more noise than they are now to pose any real issue, likely some loner looking for scraps. It's only the unfamiliar sound of giggling that actually makes him peek open an eye.

Giggling. Pixies. Debrincat snorts, loudly, and hears the scatter of creatures evading acknowledgement -- but never the lack of the laughter, for pixies love their mischeif. As Debrin opens his eyes, begrudged by his interrupted rest, he does indeed see the conundrum.

The shimmering blue of pixie dust, all over his travel equipment and almost certainly now in it. The drawstring is still wrapped tight from where it sits a few feet in front of him, but the stuff sticks to everything and gets everywhere. Just his luck that he was the target of these tricksters; they laugh from their secret hideaways, out of sight but not out of earshot. Perhaps it's his sign to move on, as irritable as this is. He's going to be a beacon of shimmering in the darkness for every fiend around for weeks. 

The giggling continues. "Alright, alright," Debrincat says, scowling as he finally heaves himself to his feet. "I get it. Lesson learned."