[ Quentin drops and Riku starts forward with this, this sound, like a soft cough of alarm. There could be a pragmatic excuse - like how drawing attention to themselves could bring less benevolent spirits near - but Riku's not really given to raising his voice unless he's angry or desperate.

He stops just short of reaching for him, as Quentin begins to pull himself upright. Riku sees... cracks. Like on the bark of old and withered trees, lying over where his face should be, with two great pits hollowed out for his eyes. A spirit's mask.

Do you still trust your eyes?
A voice that makes his blood freeze, lurking in the sudden and lurching gallop of his heart. Riku's fingers curl into the gloved meat of his palm, just one hand. The other twitches, almost echoing the gesture, but the ache throbbing in his wrist reminds him to keep his fingers loose.

He shakes his head, answering both a voice the magician can't hear and the man's own question. Shutting his own eyes, Riku inhales slowly to gather himself, but at the flare of his nostrils he catches it: a deep and smothering Darkness, familiar, cloying, rolling off Quentin like heat off a fevered brow.

At last, you see.

He exhales in a brief and startled huff. This time, when Riku looks at Quentin, he sees him. ]

Me? [ Taken aback momentarily, his expression flattens out, edging a step closer. ] I-

[ Just as it may appear that Riku won't answer, he curtly admits: ]

Not really.

[ He lifts up one hand, because of the sound he had made when he first approached, his concern etching a crease between his silver eyebrows; his hand draws close to the underside of the other's chin but falls short of actual contact, staring at his throat. ]

It sounded like you were... choking. I saw no one else. [ His gaze shifts to the side a little. ] No one else actually here, anyway.

...Why are you all the way out here?