The waves roll gently: in and out. A flapping sound, the feeling of the clammy evening breeze being pushed against you, and the sickly-sweet inner sense of friends being cast on you announce the arrival of Snitches.
A small thud. He’s brought you a present. The wild nature of the plane hones your senses and without looking you can tell it is likely rodentia.
“You don’t need to cast that spell on me you know…”
"It’s habit. Snitches gets scritches?”
The tressym rolls and shows its belly, accepting the rub but then batting at the hand gently with a paw to signal its preferences. “Snitches likes you…”
“I like Snitches too.” A few moments pass…
“Arturo seems hungry… he’s marked Alice, but just watches her… he’s weird… maybe he’d like a fish.”
Snitches senses his spell waning and returns to his feet, stretching and then tensing muscles in preparation to fly.
“You don’t have to go…”
“It’s habit.”
The monk goes to say more, but the tressym has already flapped off into the twilight sky. The friends spell loses its hold, and you can tell you were enchanted. Now familiar with its after-effect, you focus your ki on the void of space and calm the feelings the spell leaves, like the acrid reflux left behind by a delicious feast.
The monk eyes the “trophy.”
This moment, this place. Locked in space and time, repeating again and again. The waves roll gently: in and out.