They lead around the perimeter of the little island in a circle, but as she turns, there is now a figure - clad entirely in ragged bandages - standing beside the hammock and watching her curiously.
"I do not believe we are kin," the figure croaks, in a voice which only poorly approximates humanity. "Kindred spirits, perhaps. You may call me Don Orlea. Cynic... is no longer here. And it may indeed be an ordeal - or it may not."
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She tilts her head a bit, "You are not related to my master, are you?"
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With that she bows formally, "Where is this place?"
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