It was a spooky sort of day. A day for superstitions, and black cats. At least, it was for Bug, but then again, she was superstitious, and... a black cat.

Sort of.

Half dragon, really, but it only showed in those leathery wings, the tiny spines, the spade-tipped tail. And the little baby dragon-horns, of course. All in all she just looked like an oversized black cat, and right now, cheerful, she was cautiously balancing herself along a wall of bones. (Which was, in fairness, also pretty spooky.) She was wide-eyed, as she went--she wondered where the bones had come from; whose they'd been. Lots were burnt, the way Dad killed and ate--maybe a dragon had done it?

Maybe he had done it?

Bug did not know.

She knew she was exploring, though, and she called out--willing her magicka to join it in an eerie echo around the cave: "Hellooo!"

The magicka didn't come, but Bug didn't mind. She called out again, listening to her voice echo through the bones: "Hellooooooo!"