At the shrine's threshold the spirit looks like a small child no taller than four feet. Its fur is soft and slightly matted from years of moonlight and leaf-litter, not the sleek, immaculate pelt one would expect. Nine wisps of faintly glowing tails cascade behind it like the tails of lanterns. When it moves it does so with the sudden, uncanny stillness of a predator and the uncertain curiosity of a child. Unexpectedly, when the spirit smiles the pupils contract into vertical slits and an almost-corporeal fragrance of crushed jasmine fills the clearing, an adult elegance glimpsed through a child's frame.