The razorclaw shifter swarm druid from the cold and arid steppes, who has always been part of this party, is disturbed from his sleep. He twitches a tufted ear to identify the noise. It sounds much like someone having a bad dweam. In lynx form, хүнгүй rises silently and stalks from the camp to escape the mewling cries. At the verge of the firelight, the lynx seems to disintegrate and disperses into a swarm of crickets that seek rest in the tree canopy.