The ridge was high and cold, the boundary between the mortal world and the spirit world.
The Mahaha, naked and blue, skipped over the rocks. Icy Cackle. It heard footsteps. It flexed its long, cold fingers. "Tickle time," it whispered.
The Patupaiarehe stood in the clearing. He was a pale-skinned fairy of the Maori mist, beautiful and elusive. He saw the grotesque demon approaching.
The Grasp
The Mahaha lunged. Frost-Tickling Fingers. It aimed for the ribs, intending to freeze the fairy with laughter.
The Patupaiarehe didn't flinch. He simply exhaled.
Mist Veil.
His body lost its solidity. He became a cloud of white vapor. The Mahaha’s fingers passed through the fog, clutching at nothing.
"Cold makes me stronger," the Patupaiarehe’s voice echoed from everywhere.
The Song
The cold radiating from the Mahaha actually made the mist thicker. The demon was now blind in a whiteout of its own making.
Then, the music started.
Koauau Lure.
The haunting notes of a bone flute drifted through the fog. The Mahaha, disoriented and prone to obsession, followed the sound. It ran left. Then right. Then left again. The music led it in circles, closer and closer to the edge of the ravine.
"Over here," the flute whispered.
The Mahaha ran toward the voice—and stepped into empty air. It fell silently into the abyss, while the Patupaiarehe materialized on the cliff edge, wiping his flute clean.