"Why is the human on their back?" Moss asked not-so-quietly as the spectre passed, cocking their head to watch them go. While Fetch continued onward, not looking back at the ghostly sight. She continued for a long moment, before eventually realising that Moss would not choose to follow, content to watch and observe the slow, trudging movements of the Courser and their rider.

Moss almost thought they could hear it. The clipclopping of their hooves, the swish and sway of their lank tail. The flag held over the shoulder of the headless human hung limply, fluttering occasionally in a breeze that did not match the one that swirled around them in the moor.

"Why them?" Fetch asked Moss in return, when she moved on quiet hooves to stand behind the puck, overtopping them by a small height.

It was not an answer to Moss' question. Nor was it one Moss truly understood. They were pretty sure Fetch's question could have meant a thousand things. But Moss was happy enough to pluck one for themselves. Why were these two souls the ones that had been chosen the wander the moor? What was it about them that had stuck? Did they ask to stay? Were they trying to leave?

"Hello!" Moss said brightly, trotting forward, beckoning to the spectre with their head, tossing their mane. The Courser paused, standing too-still, their hooves not sinking as they should into the moor. On the side of their neck, stuck just under their chin, Tulip shrunk back, hiding in their shell.

"Fair prize for fair warning…" Fetch murmured ominously…