Circe pulls her desert heat as far under her skin as she could, forgoing Fairest dignity for a more Summery ambushing advantage. Vincent perhaps in response of Circe's movements, gives up his previous briar born shadows, and slipped a little to far into the light.
The hob that comes around the bend is short and squat, wider than a tree trunk, and only coming up to just above Vincent's knee. He's in rough spun wool, and has a belt with some sort of blade hanging from it. As he comes closer, they can see his face is wet with sweat.
"The fuck you doing down there?" the hob calls out to Vincent, "Lookin' for yer glass-ass?" he asks chortling and pointing to his eyes.