It was extremely self-absorbed; the rest of the world was only a factor in so much as it affected it. The sounds that mattered were the dirt, the leaves, the sounds of fingernails hitting more than soil. Smells, touch, even taste was all for the key.

Except when it wasn't.

The Nightcap froze, suddenly overtaken by the feeling of being observed. It cut the girl's breath short, ignoring the ache in her bones as she remained crouched so.

Slowly, it breathed in a ragged breath.

Who. Is. It. Now?