Malaya hummed a soft tune, something short of a trill but still the sort that sent shivers down a mortal's spine. He had a high pitched singing voice that matched the wind's shrillness at given times. Upon hearing the creaking of the wood and movement, he stopped. The spirit froze in midweeding, his eyes wide as saucers and like a deer in the headlights.

Frightened by the fact he had been caught, he stood up quickly, raising the hood of his robe -as if that would hide him- and skipped to the back of his tree, hiding behind it and trying his best to keep out of plain view. The tree dweller's heart was thumping hard against his cage as he waited.