Quinkin

Quinkin is a Fae spirit of the rock-shelves and river edges — a liminal being that prefers thresholds. In the field they announce themselves as a wash of sensations: the smell of damp stone and distant ember-smoke, a sudden hush in the birdcalls, and a sharp, bone-deep chill that creeps along exposed skin. They are primarily incorporeal, folding into shadow and rock; when they choose to be seen they take on elongated silhouettes or the impossible stillness of a child stopped mid-laugh. Their voice is mimicry and aside — a wind-made phrase that becomes the exact sound of someone you know, or a soft, staccato giggle that comes from no single place.