Mark drifted above, absently hovering upwards and towards the clouds when a spunky wisp of energy hissed itself into shape.
"Miss… what is that smell?!" Flit immediately clutched his small nose with its small paws, contorting his face into an expression of disgust and mild vexation.
"What's that all over you, don't tell me it's blood." He blurted.
"Huh." Mark turned to his spirit guardian companion.
"Flit! You're here." He said with a very out of place tone, like he was happy that he had just slaughtered a bunch of people, as if he were a psychotic mass murderer.
"Don't think of getting your filthy hands on me." Flit reprimanded, momentarily forgetting that he had no physical form and Mark couldn't hold him, just as a desert can''t fit into the mouth of a camel that walks across it.
