Balyn pushed himself upright, rising to a standing position in front of the gravestone. The messengers sprouting from its base looked up at him expectantly, eager to help by sending him back to the waking world of Yharnam, but he waved them off. After his last embarrassing (albeit temporary) exit from the mortal coil, he really wasn't all that exited to head back right away. Instead, he tugged down the cloth mask that covered his face and took a deep breath of the moon-scented air.

It was odd, he thought. Underneath the mask, after his exertions, his beard had become matted with sweat, plastered to his face. Yet now it was nothing of the sort; the whiskers were brisk and springy. It was little different than how the blood vanished from his skin and clothing whenever he traveled to or from the Hunter's Dream, almost as if his body had been recreated anew in each place. Balyn supposed it made sense; who'd ever heard of having a dream about fighting monsters and waking up covered in blood?

Shrugging, he walked over to the Doll, who stood waiting patiently in her usual place.

"Hey, there," he called jauntily. "Didn't catch you out napping on the job this time, did I?"

"Welcome home, good hunter," she replied in her eternally placid tone. "What is it you desire?"

"I've got a message for you, actually."

The Doll tipped her head to one side, curiosity and confusion mingled on her porcelain face.

"I ran into this lady...well, her daggers ran into me at least. Repeatedly. Eileen the Crow, her name was. Anyway, she said to tell you that she said hello."

"I...remember that name," the Doll said. "She used to visit here, though that was long ago. I hope that she is doing well."

"Better than I am, at least," Balyn said. He supposed he shouldn't feel jealous, since after all the Hunter's Dream brought him back to life whenever he was killed in the waking world and the Doll knew that well enough. "She called herself a Hunter of Hunters. I guess she goes around putting down hunters that she thinks have gotten too close to beasthood or mad with blood or something? If you ask me, though, that crow comes off as a complete fanatic."

"Why is that, good hunter?"

"Because she takes her caws way too seriously."

"I see."

Balyn shook his head.

"No, no, that was a joke, see? Cause—caws. Because she's Eileen the Crow, right?" The Doll's expression never changed, and he shook his head again. "Never mind. I guess whatever it is that lets you walk and talk and feel, it didn't give you a sense of humor."

The Doll tipped her head to the side again.

"Perhaps one day we could test that, good hunter?"

Balyn buried his face in his leather-gloved palm.

"...I think I was better off taking my chances with Eileen."