Kneeling looks too much like an act of worship for the Knight to stomach it. They jerk in place before their legs decide on their own betrayal, and fold until they've fallen into a crooked sit, going utterly still.

No movement. No breath. Nothing, but feeling her hand in theirs. They want to believe it. Their claws flex, after a long delay, to wrap around a pair of fingers. But she did this before. She held their paw and acted as though she understood and she still--

A few tendrils of Shade Wings are wrapping around her wrist.

The Knight jolts in horror and is gone.

They land, a flash of tendril-laden black, on the platform in front of the Spirits' Glade.