Fantasy Gifts From A Moon God

[Malhyanth]

Wy’ziot watched Panyin’s reaction, realising she wasn’t so keen. He seemed to have made a poor choice, so he would speak to her later, and tell her he would be be offended if she did not wish to wear it. Perhaps it was the fact it was at her throat? She could easily manipulate the long cord into a bracelet, or arm band. But he felt the stone was meant for her; something to hone her senses, yet ground her. He’d always know it as “the witch’s stone”, and she certainly made powerful potions and concoctions. He’d found it here for a reason. He hoped its powerful essence would be more appealing than the weight of burden wearing it seemed to present. He gave a glancing smile, like he understood, but hoped she’d trial the gift, if only for one day.

As they looked around, Ivak was toying with his new gift. He’d not had gifts like this before, and his teeth chattered against the blackened skull fragment which had been carved so dutifully. It’s pyrite eyes glittered, and he made a face at the bitter taste. He let the talisman dangle once again, seemingly more comfortable with the idea of the gift than Panyin, though his fingers strayed to it regularly, brushing it, making sure it was still there. He liked it, it seemed, and felt connected to the shape, the golden eyes.

As Panyin chose their direction, she joked about his ‘resources’, smiling and appearing to be enjoying this respite from their travelling, this rest from their fleeing, like after they’d met, when they could just... enjoy their time, meandering the world together. Wy’ziot smiled back, feeling the same sensation. His face shrank in horror as she slipped, Ivak squeaking and darting forward as well to try and save her, but Wy’ziot was quicker; his arms shot out, one being grabbed by Panyin, the other catching around her waist and dragging her close to him, her back pressed safely into his broad chest, and keeping her there a moment longer than necessary. Once steady, she extricated and saw to the slippery silt mud that can caused her near fall. Ivak crouched beside it, poking at it with a clawed finger and giving it an evil stare.

Wy’ziot began to press on, but a hand on his arm stilled him. Her hand. He looked down in puzzlement, unused to her touch when she was not using him of a eve; when she was in a private surrounding. She took the grip, comfortable, and stepped in close to him. She appeared to mean to maintain this. His eyes softened; his lip smirked, and his free hand rose to brush stray hair that had fallen forward in her trip back behind her pointed ear. It was a gentle touch, but it was weighted with acceptance of her choice. She took the lead to move on their little trio, Ivak dancing around them like a lively child, itching to play.

The church was squat, the tumbled bell tower barely strong enough, it seemed, to hold the bell in its top tier. Tree life, and vines of all manner of species interwove with the dilapidated building, blending man-made and natural elements seamlessly. It’s pale grey stone and alive greens and browns made Wy’ziot stop and admire it for some time. It reminded him, a little, of himself. Wild and Man-made, blended together... could the Monk have sensed that in Wy’ziot? He couldn’t see how. Humans were not perceptive enough to note such things; the difference in the way something Wild walked. The way they were alert, even when at rest. The subtle differences in their stances. Yet he’d suggested the church, like it was important for Wy’ziot to visit it. And he’d been obliged, for some reason, to acquiesce. As they entered, he felt the change in the flooring from flagstone outside to bare, silted earth inside. It was damp, and the silt felt wonderful between his toes. Ivak felt the same sensation, looking up at Wy’ziot to gauge the big albino’s barefoot response as well. Both thought that Panyin, in her boots, was missing out on a huge experience, but it was hard to explain to one whom was not so Wild.

The silt fed the plants that punctured the outer human shell. The inside of the church was humid with plant-breath, sweet with the smell of the flowers, musky with the scent of the tallow candles, plus those made of plant matter too. Ivak moved away from the pair, the strange internalised Wildness appealing to him as much as it did Wy’ziot. His hands ran over the pews as he went exploring, but Panyin was ever diligent, and remained watching him. She slipped her grasp from Wy’ziot’s, as the giant simply stood for some time, in the central aisle of the church’s pews, and looked around himself, his nostrils flared as he took in the scents, eyes closing against the shafts of light that pierced through with the branches making their way skyward.

Such peace... so much calm washed over him. The scents of honeysuckle, wisteria, mulch from the tree, a sweet bark where it rolled and cracked on itself, like cinnamon. Around him, people continued their way, manoeuvring around the stationary giant, bedecked in bones, and painted clay-red dreadlocks. They left him to his silent meditation. Somewhere near, Wy’ziot could hear the little grey monk, and slowly, he returned to himself, eyes opening to see his fiercely strong handshake rocking Panyin on the spot. She smiled, and made her way to the candles he’d indicated to include themselves in the rituals here. Seeing the albino had come back from his medative state, the monk simply smiled, and indicated Panyin.

“Apologies, this is..?” Wy’ziot turned his gaze to Panyin, a soft smile pulling at his scarred face.

“She is everyzhing. My master.” He commented. The monk frowned, a little confused by the statement. Panyin’s arms had slipped into his own at only the second part of his comment, missing the initial statement.

“You've been telling people what?” Her voice held a barely concealed annoyance that made his face split into a more thorough grin. She still did not understand the weight of the promise between them, nor the depth of the connection they shared. And that was fine. She didn’t need to know; she would outlive him long into the future, and it wasn’t worth her feeling the breadth of that knowledge. Wy’ziot didn’t want her burdened with him more than she already was.

“... I speak only zhe truzh, dear one.” He chuckled at her disgruntled expression; it clearly stated she did not appreciate his comment, but she would go along with it, accept it, at least until it came to her once again, to be used against him in argument.

“Yes, that's me. The Master.” Her tone was a little cutting, and Wy’ziot ducked his head, hiding his amused chuckle from her, and the monk. The grey man simply accepted, seeming to also misunderstand the words Wy’ziot had shared, and moved on, to visit with other members of his congregation. Panyin dragged Wy’ziot forward, towards the waterlogged back of the church, to view the natural pool, and where Ivak crouched with his candle, looking at everything and what was supposed to be done. She parted from his arm again, moving to where Ivak was to keep him in check. Wy’ziot stood, staring into the empty sockets of a boar’s head that would have made even he, in his Wolf form, shrink back in terror. The skull was nearly as long as his body would be, a giant beast. Across its paper white surface, intricate designs had been carved.

Wy’ziot stood, arms a little outstretched, head bowed, eyes closed. Slowly, his hands came together in front of him, and rose to his bowed forehead, one hand resting palm open toward the skull, knuckles against his forehead. The other hand started as a balled fist in this open palm, opening like a flower, and outstretching to the skull, coming around in a arc to his chest, where he placed the hand, palm open, toward the skull, over his heart. He remained like this, eyes closed, listening to the sounds around him, feeling the warmth of the place, the feelings of entities all around.

The meditating man stood so still, as a pillar of the church. People whom had witnessed the display just stood and watched him for a few moments, to see if there was more. He was as bone himself; white, pale, and still. Inside, however, he started to feel turmoil.

“Whaaaaaat issssss thisssssss placccccce you briiiiiing usssssss?”

Cold crept up his spine, setting a fine tremor to his still muscles. Beneath his skin, the Wolf stirred, and rolled, creating the faintest show of movement to any that looked close enough; fur beneath the skin, like a fish beneath the skin of the water.

“It is a safe place.”

As they spoke, internalised, Wolf and Man blended. The Black Spirit laughed, his cold, sharp claws scraping down his shoulder blades. It sent a stinging pain through his skin.

“Sssssafe placcccccce? There aaaaaare nooooooo ssssssssafe placccccccccessssssss.”

Wy’ziot’s breath hitched a little.

“Djou’re wrong.”

The Wolf growled within, and the Dark Spirit gurgled it’s death rattle laugh.

“Sssssssshe woooooon’t ssssssssave yoooooooou. Yooooooour sssssssssoul issssssss miiiiiiiine. Weeeeeeee agreeeeeeeeed.”

Wy’ziot’s head lolled to the side, breaking his meditation to the Boar, splitting the connection with the Dark One. His gaze took time to refocus, and he realised Pan was looking to him, like she’d asked something, but he could only gape, mouth drier still than before, unsure what she’d said, or whether it was related to the incident in his meditation. It seemed, however, she did not require a response, and she returned to speaking with a skeletal creature stood beside the fountain that poured around the great skull. When he felt his legs would support him, he moved forward, standing just behind Pan, restraining from dragging her heat into his chest to take away the cold pain the Dark Spirit has inflicted.

Listening to the frail looking girl, he realised the reason the Dark One had shown; he clearly felt the multitude of spirits gathering to be helped; and he was here to help himself to their energies, and feed himself on them, trapping them forever. He realised then he would have to get far away from here that night, when he would be at his strongest. The Dark One was not going to wreck this ceremony. He was deep in thought when words piqued his interest. She saw nothing around Panyin. She saw nothing. She seemed shy, like she’d done something without permission. Pan didn’t seem to mind, but then the gaze fell to Wy’ziot. The expressions were fleeting, and to someone not trained to notice, would simply have spoken acceptance not to ask. Wy’ziot saw more; her perceptive widening of her hooded eyelids for a mere fraction of a second, seeing only darkness around this giant of a man, so close it whispered into his ear, clawed hands wrapped around his very soul; other hands wrapped around his heart, his head, claws dig deep into his very flesh. Her expression tightened, lips pressing, eyebrows twitching together; fear, and a feeling of the unknown. Then it all dissolved into simple acknowledgement. But her scent told him everything; she saw him as the doomed thing he was. He simply nodded back, looking away to the skull to his right, as she made her excuses to leave. Lost to his thoughts as he gazed upon the giant pig, a tug at his breeches pocket startled him, peering down into the pale face of a boy, roughly the same size as Ivak.

“Big Man.” The words were so familiar, but from a different voice, a different face. Ivak, by the water’s edge, stopped, and turned, hearing the name he used for Wy'ziot being used. His dark features frowned, as if insulted someone else had used his nickname for the giant. The tawny hair was scruffy, like Ivak. His features even a little elven like him. But he had the pale silty muck that made everything in this town grey ingrained into his very being. Completely human, and of this town. Wy’ziot raised a brow at him in question.

“What are ya?” Again, shock rivoted the Wolf to the spot, his muscles twitching, unsure what to say, his mouth gaping a little as he tried to think of an answer, but the boy wasn’t done. “A mountain? A mountain ox. Like those white bears up there?” Wy’ziot frowned, not understanding. Behind him, Ivak was inching closer, peering at the boy. The necklace was presented. “I'm a fox. Well. Kind of. I think. I dunno.” Wy’ziot’s eyebrows rose further as he contemplated the question. He had many bones of different species upon himself, but one used only in special circumstances hung from his belt at the back... it was one Panyin had not seen since that first encounter. As Ivak bounced up, and looked at the jawbone, Panyin had also approached. Wy’ziot looked to her, and shrugged a little, unsure what to say. She seemed satisfied that the boy had no idea what he had almost caused, and instead, she continued to explore. Wy’ziot crouched to their level as they discussed the appearance of the gang.

“Vhat makes djou ask?” Wy’ziot’s voice was low as he asked his question, the boy simply smiling as he pointed at all the bones on his person.

“Y’wear a lot of talismans.” He stated, like it was so very obvious what he’d meant. “Can y’not choose either? Ma says I has to, though. She says y’can’t speak to more than one spirit.” Wy’ziot looked to Ivak, and they looked back to the boy. So the reason everything was so decorated in bones was because they were talismans; spirits to guide and protect, but you could only serve one. Wy’ziot slowly unfastened a catch at his back, and removed his mask. The werewolf skull simply looked like a giant wolf to most, and as it was settled into place over the upper half of his face, the boy gaped in amazement at the size of the skull, and the mottled eyes that peered through.

“I guess zhat vould mean I am a Volf.” Wy’ziot playfully growled at the boy. His mouth was almost a perfect ‘O’ of excitement, and Ivak, whom had never seen the skull either was almost vibrating with excitement at the boy’s same joy in finding something new to contemplate.

“How did y’get THAT!! It’s HUGE!” Wy’ziot secreted the mask back to the belt, at the small of his spine. He shrugged, his scarred, lop-sided smile playful.

“Djou ‘ave to get big, and strong, so djou can fight ‘im djourself. Only strong warriors can speak vizh zhe Volf.” The young boy nodded enthusiastically, and was still in a state of awe. Ivak seemed just as enthralled, despite knowing Wy’ziot’s true identity. It seemed the young boy’s infectiously curious nature had also affected Ivak. The boy tugged on Ivak’s sleeve.

“Hey. Let’s go play!! My name is Tobbin! Everyone calls me Tobi though!” The boy grinned so infectiously, even Wy’ziot as he stood couldn’t help but feel kindness towards him. Ivak nodded enthusiastically, but peered to Wy’ziot, to see if he could. Wy’ziot waved his hand.

“Come back to zhe Tavern vhen djou’re ready. And be’ave!!” The two boys squealed, and ran off, out of the church, adults around them laughing and pointing at the new boy and one of their own, getting on so well. Wy’ziot sought the rooms for Pan, finding her beside what was left of a row of candles, this time balanced around skulls of various sizes and species. He didn’t say anything, instead wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, bowing his head into the back of her neck to sniff deeply if her comforting scent. “Come. I need to get a drink; zhis place... it ‘as too much energy ‘ere.” He turned her in his embrace, tilting her face, and planting a chaste kiss to her full lips. He smiled, and, emboldened by her earlier affection and display, took her hand gently, and lead her through the scant crowd. The monk waved as they left, a passing “return for midnight” ringing out as they left. Wy’ziot followed his nose, seeking sweet refreshment of juice or cordial, his body feeling more and more drained as he got further from the church. Panyin’s legs were shorter than his, and raced to keep up. His search lead them straight back to the market, and a delightful sweet delicacy stall.

Seating themselves upon a stone bench, with a long wooden table pushed up close to it, a waitress approached, and Wy’ziot ordered a sweet concoction of rice cream, cinnamon, and honey for himself, as well as a platter of preserved fruits, allowing Pan to order whatever drink suited her. The waitress bustled off to her tasks, and Wy’ziot felt himself loosen muscles he hadn’t realised had been tensing so strongly within the church. “Pan...” He took her hand within his own, and smiled a little. “I... vill ‘ave to get out of zhis town tonight. I von’t go far, and if djou need me, I vill know. But for safety of ozhers, tonight, I must go.” He looked at her with pleasing eyes to understand why he had to go. He would explain... at some point, what it was that he’d sworn his soul to. Why he couldn’t be in this town, or near the river, when the sun set. “I vill return tomorrow. Zhen zhe New Moon vill ‘ave passed. And I vill be in control again.” His hand squeezed her’s so tightly. She was just sat there, looking so forlorn, and accepting, he just wanted to scoop her up and take her to the Tavern whilst Ivak played with his new friend, and have his way with her until he had to leave, but he had to resist; it was not him that sought this. And he knew he couldn’t give in to the Wolf and his demands.

 

[unais]

It was... peace. Not of hers. Not of her kind. But she could feel it. Peace for others, in a quiet, meditative space to do so. She took herself quietly out of the room, to leave them to it. Her presence was quiet enouguh, but too long, and she could be poison, that she was not like them. She was not going to be like them. And she did not want to disturb them with her impiety.

Though she could breathe here.

She touched the necklace. Strange to her fingertips, smooth bone weightless to her fingers, heavy against her chest. Her thoughts were quiet. Taken in with the environment in its solitude.

Approached from behind, there was the faintest start as he touched her, for a moment knowing it could be someone other than Wy'Ziot. But he eased into her, the smell of him wrapped around her. The slight musk, a day-old sweat. And the smell of his skin. And how he breathed into her neck with a gentle impropriety. Worshipping her skin.

Come. He turned her to him. She had forgotten of his thirst and would have felt bad about it. And this place... it has too much energy. She didn't quite understand. But he kissed her, surprising her more. She smiled into him. The impropriety of sneaking into the back room of a church, holding her against him to kiss her. The thought amused her in all this propriety.

He took her hand. Deigned that they could stay together like this. Holding hands like a normal pair. He lead her through the streets, leading her into the normalcy of what they were doing. They were looked at but not more than before. They weren't any more special than they had been upon entry. She breathed, wanting to find herself from these thoughts, lend herself to his naturality. His finding his way through things, and her following his lead. It relieved her.

They were in a shaded light here, reflected off the light colored paint of the buildings. There was a frothy white concoction, she leant forward to smell it, its strong cinnamon, rice and honey sweet to her. She ordered tea, and drank a small sip of his drink, catching only the foam. She sniffed, wiping it from her nose. Then asked for a pitcher for water.

There was something enervating off of him. She felt it but did not acknowledge it. There was nothing she could do. He was good with kids. Someones that the thought of immediately exhausted her. She could guess he'd be tense from them. From the house of worship that was not his. But neither of those had seemed to be a detriment. He'd been quiet, enjoyed the sanctity, the solemnity. She'd be remiss to not notice the effect it had on him.

So it niggled in the faintest touch to her mind. What was it that had bothered him?

He took her hand. She looked at it, knowing something was coming.

I will... have to get out of this town tonight.

Mm. Her thumb moved over his knuckle.

I won't go far, and if you need me, I will know. But... for the safety of others, tonight, I must go.

She felt him looking at her, willing to see her eyes, and she obliged, not feeling raw for it.

I will return tomorrow. When the New Moon will have passed.

And I will be in control again.

The New Moon was it? He'd have been thinking of that before, as they left the church. What had been perturbing him, making him nervous.

"I see." There was nothing in her voice. But she had to look at their hands. Acceptance was not withheld, not forced to be given. It just was. She knew it from the moment he held onto her, fixed her with the need to have something told. His hand held hers enough to hurt, and she turned her hand to return some part of that grip. "I understand."

He could not keep his promises to her. But she did not find it unreasonable. He would have to leave. Sometimes. And she would have to accept that. For now. Their future, she felt, was different. Could be different. Things maybe would change, or not be as they were now. With a muted chuckle, she raised his hand and bent a bit to kiss his knuckle, as he once did her. They placed them back down, and her other hand joined his, to hold somewhat better onto the hand that was so much larger than hers. That happiness was fleeting, as she resumed a practical tone.

"So... how long do I have with you tonight..." corrected herself, "now?"

He raised her hand to his lips again, closing his eyes this time, pressing her hard against him. Talking over her skin. Until sunset. I am with you. As much as you'll have me.

"Hm..." The sun had begun a descent, but still there was a few hours. She didn't know where to organize their things, their plans for travel. She didn't know if she felt like spending that time pragmatically.

The woman brought a plate of preserved fruits. Jabonica, tree grapes, that were juicy when bit into. A tart, hard skin like a plum with a pale, or pinkish sweet flesh inside. These were fresh and hard to come by outside of this area. She thought of the use of them--more than she remembered—and that her skills must have improved the last time she was in a swamp. She must soon be getting into the swing of things, if she were to be alone all night. That’s how she would soothe her boredom; always have, and perhaps for a long time always would. But it was not boredom she wished to have kept away.

She ate little, sweets not being her tone usually. The plain fruits were enough for her, but she hadn’t much of an appetite. He seemed worried that it was him who caused this lacking huger, but she laughed in her throat, and hit his arm yet again. Much weaker this time. “I’m not really one for sweets, at all.”

He hummed his concern, eating what he wanted of the platter. So what was it she wanted to eat now?

“Something savory. Meat probably.” Or salty, rather.

She must have been looking rather thin lately, since he paid their tab and helped her up, gentlemanly, from the outskirts where the scent of live cooking became thin, to the stalls further in the market. Rolling steam and smoke were the overhanging curtains of this place, thick with odd spices and the juices of various meat and fruits. He grabbed her a glazed meat strunk on a stick of burdock, but upon tasting, it was sweet meats, and she laughed, eating some of it, forcing the rest on him. Her hand held his again, squeezing more tightly than she had before, though she neither looked nor said anything of it. It was a festival alright, and they had to string through the movement of people. Hungry, less of them were paying attention, but that Wy’Ziot stool head and shoulders above the rest, he got again some certain stares. Those wishing to approach him. Get some take on this new stranger, who so epitomized many of the things they admired.

Many stallkeepers called out to him, near enough that he couldn’t ignore some calls. He was laden with free samples, giving them all to Panyin, who ate like a little mouse. Mostly nibbling and leaving the rest for him to take care of. He handed off some of it to children who strayed near, who fled with their spoils and the giggle for gifts.

She was quite picky, now that he had asked what it was she would have liked to eat. There were ludicrous amounts of fried foods, which were delicious and heady, but she hated eating them. They made her sluggish, hard to think. And she didn’t want to lose any time with him. So few moments to spare before sunset. She wouldn’t waste it on refocusing her brain through a fog.

There was another batch of roast crickets, to which they got a little bag, and it was spicy, crunchy, still hot. “Ah.” She fed him a handful, then herself again, and stiffened as the slickness was more than she thought, coughing through it. They’d a grapetree wine, and Panyin purchased the whole bottle for him after seeing his liking to it, drinking from the neck of the square bottle before giving it to him.

Finally, they came across a stall of what looked to be flayed meat in stewed juices. It smelt of alligator, same as most of the meats, and they handed her a small bowl, thick with white meat in a peppered red powder and thin soup. Slurping, it was spicy and tangy. Not too much spice, and she liked it, taking it with her, eating more than a few bites this time.

“Mn.” Through her meal she gestured, a change in pace further down the line of stalls where games and trinket stores were beyond the foodstalls. They would walk along the side of the stalls here, where less people flowed. There was someone leant against the stall, head bowed, muss of Black, greasy hair in his face. From his smell alone, Wy’Ziot could tell hours of inebriation soaked through the pores of his skin. Panyin noted from his position, but didn’t mind it, going to step over the legs that sprawled through the path anyhow. Easy enough.

She nearly flung forward as a shin kicked upward, the second of clarity canting his head as she was seen. She stumbled but caught herself, and checked her food for missing pieces. The water had dribbled out of the bowl and onto her hand, but no great loss, as she sucked the sauce from the side.

“Oh, oops.” His head tilted back. His tone was white, less gray than here, the half furled hair stuck to his skin. The tone of him made her look at him for the curiosity. "Looks like you tripped over the fucking floor rug; clumsy hussy."

Her head canted, sharply surprised, though it was one that edged a smile to her face. Odd.

In one barely perturbed movement, Wy grabbed ahold of this man’s collar, wrinkling further the mess of a discheveled wear. A white shirt with buttons under a black vest.

Before his words, “Don’t touch me, you great, bloated carca—“ finished, he tossed him to the ground, much like Pan would have been. She held the laugh, not wanting to worsen things, and took ahold of Wy’s arm as he continued.

“How about...” as they walked, “no more tripping, for today, hm?” Her arm squeezed to his, tighter against her chest. Twice in one day was quite a lot. It seemed these shoes were not for sliding grit and water. Getting them cobbled again would be ideal.

They perused the stalls for games, the small things of trinkets. It seemed a little unfair to have Wy’Ziot play any of their little games, mostly built for young people and children, and an offhand toss for some loops in the sand won him a prize and the stallkeeper more business. But Panyin gave the little toy away, and as things grew quiet between them again, found that nothing was needed.

They walked, arm in arm, barely observing the outside world. The presence of each another taking space in their minds. How he felt along her arm, at her side, under her fingers. Sometimes his pulse could be felt in her palm. And a warmth, when she glanced, and the shadow of something under his surface. It was the Wolf. She knew. It was never said, but she had seen it so many times, and the flutter of scales, of fur, beneath his skin. Pressed against her went it wanted, knowing her presence when it needed. It could be nothing else.

Time had passed. An hour or more, she couldn’t check, though the sun started to draw longer shadows.

Wy’Ziot felt the approach. It was not violent, if sinister, and he allowed his arm off Panyin as she watched a stall in its many candles flickering and billowing in the light wind. He allowed the second, but grabbed ahold of a wrinkled shirt as Pan yelped.

Her bag tumbled from her hip, and she grabbed it before it had hit the silt. Phew. The man, same as before, much more sober, looked quite pleased with himself and his little knife, which she looked to see had cut her belt cleanly, and there would be no patching this.

He said nothing this time, as Wy’Ziot shook his head and picked him up by the same collar, flinging him more bodily aside. He hit something, not fatal or brutal, while Panyin tsked her misfortune.

“That was a good belt, too...” Now she had to backtrack to find a stall selling such wares.

Wy’Ziot made to carry her bag, but she saw someone and deferred from it.

“Sir! And miss.” The grey little monk waved and bowed his head a little at their greeting. “Hope ya alright. Findin’ Festivities to be well?”

There was an hour or two more until the sun touched the horizon.

“They’re alright, thank you.”

“Wot happened to ya bag?”

She tilted her head, back toward the man pulling himself up from the water.

“Oh,” a little worry creased his brow, and his understanding was quite whole. “Ohh. He’s ah. Sorry for him; apologies. No needto forgive ‘im or ignore ‘im ‘e’s ah... an alchemist for ahs. Been about a year here but ya can probably taken he like... imbibin’ a bit more than normal folk an’ even then he’s not good to guests when he’s not. Come, excuse ‘im for now if ya’ would. Please, we have some pre-ceremony drinks; all partake typically. Come.”

He ushered them away nicely, and they found their way through a candle copse where most of the townspeople seemed to be bustling and gathered now. The way the light skewed the long, tall trees here made her heart think it was dark for a moment, but it was not. Light was still above the horizon.

Panyin led the steps as they came to it, allowing her to choose for them to sit quite in a corner, where it was easy to leave if need be. The monk looked a little nonplussed and surely they are supposed to have a more honored seat as guests, but seemed fine that they did as they pleased.

Panyin sat with her bag, lip pursed as she tried to puzzle out how she could fix this. The monk indicated they could go to the side, where somewhere living up, to wash their mouths and hands with rice water. A cleansing before the palate, and to wash a clean slate that was innoffensive to spirits. Panyin declined, the priestess before said she was clean, and continued to puzzle through her bag. Wy’Ziot stood and followed the directions, coming to the many laid out bowls with this water. One to take for each.

“Oh—“ the soft voice from before. He turned just after rinsing his mouth, and found Fendali to be quite embarrassed to have signaled him in such a way. She nodded her head and indicated for him to finish, where he washed his hands onto the grass, and she looked away to give him some sanctimonious privacy, though she still talked.

“I, um, wanted to speak with you.” Privately, as it was apparent. “I… wanted to say… the words I meant before... I hope didn’t offend. I… didn’t know your relationship to any entities and... didn’t want to presume... And sometimes these are hidden from companions and...” and such. He seemed to understand. “And what I wanted to truly say was... I didn’t know if you preferred to have it. Or... would have wanted to be separated... or leave it behind…” Pause. “It has quite a hold on you... And... I’m not sure if you…” She gauged his expression. “…and if there’s anything I could do to help... if you wished to be free of it… I am not truly so skilled… but if there was anything I could do…” he seemed to understand her. There was something that caught her eye, something more corporeal, and she nodded her brief farewell, walking past him to go to something.

When Wy’Ziot returned, Panyin had tied the two pieces together with a traditional knot for a single belt. Though now it was so short it could only be an awkward purse. She smiled at him, and sat closer as he sat on the edge of the bench, the rest of it tilting downward into the soft ground and the company at the long table chuckling.

“I’m sorry,” Fen was back, gracefully, and with a familiar wrinkled shirt at her side. “I never caught your names, I apologize.”

“Panyin.” With a swell of noise, a prayer that had been going on, she didn’t hear how Wy’Ziot introduced himself. Or as whom.

Fen was satisfied nonetheless. “Panyin. And this is Rhett.”

He did not look at them. Did not seem to care.

“We’ve met.” She smiled, a certain smile that changed as she continued, “the alchemist, correct?”

Fendali paused, looking positively horrified at this revelation. “Ah. You’ve... met…” at this, Rhett took off, no pomp and circumstance observed, and Fen did not seem surprised, though she looked just as saddened by all of it as the news they had met him unaccompanied before. “…Apologies… you do not have to forgive him. He is transgressions materialized. I couldn’t begin to... is he the cause of that?”

Her bag. “He is, indeed. But don’t mind it. No harm no foul.”

Panyin could barely hear her apologies over the drinks being passed around. The long tables were lined with different shabby cups, pewter, glass, copper, and some silver given to the young ones for their portion.

It was quite a tart, catty mixture of liquer. They were easy given a long glass, but it did not seem to mean to drink it all at once. Most people talked, chatted over their servings and drank small sips and draughts.

Panyin stretched her legs under the table, felt for something in her bag. Perhaps had she been down wind rather than upwind, and had taken to his drink as she done most times before, or had suspected a more harmful play from the relatively harmless man. She would have caught the spiked potion in Wy’Ziot’s drink.

A small little prank that would not bother a human so much. A painkiller, so numbing that it robbed ability from most of your limbs even in effect to hold a cup. But the dark alchemist that avoided being seen, sat by the tables with his own drink, waited before he would look on. He’d no idea what he had truly done.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy’ziot chuckled as Panyin sipped his drink and ended up with a nose tip covered in the frothy offering brought to their table. Her own faintly brewed tea smelt delicious also, but his swimming head needed substance and sweetness to ground him again, so he took gentle swigs of his own tankard style glass. Clearly, the girl had felt their dainty glassware and cups wouldn’t be enough for the giant, and he appreciated her thoughtfulness. The dancing, sweet flavours stilled his queasiness, stopped his pounding head, shaved off a feeling of paranoia at being watched. He knew they were, always, but it was the first time since Panyin had come into his life the Dark Spirit had reminded Wy’ziot of his oath. Clearly, there was some concern from the creature that followed him, that this woman might inhibit the pact between them. Wy’ziot did not feel it would; he was, after all, a creature designed by the Gods for one purpose. Killing.

It saddened Wy’ziot a little, that Pan felt somewhat betrayed at his need to leave. He could see it written over her dulled features; the lines of her body that previously had been so joyous, almost child-like in the idea of festivities. To lose the man she wished to enjoy them with, and be alone, seemed to drain her of a little light. His mouth worked to try and provide some explanation, but it would not make sense without the background to his story. To explain that he fled to take the Dark Spirit away from these people, whom had filled their streets, their homes, their church with lose souls; all souls the Dark One would swallow, and make lost forever is swirling torment. Like a torturer, and Wy’ziot would be the prison officer. His response to her in terms of time also did not seem to appease her disappointment. Wy’ziot bowed his head, preoccupying himself won’t the candied treats that had been brought out, eating more in those moments together than Panyin was likely to have ever seen him eat. Sweetness brought him back into himself, gave him the strength to push the Dark One back to his periphery.

Mottled eyes cast a concerned look to the woman, whom picked the least candied of the fruits, and picked only the most ripe. She simply smiled, mentioning a preference for the savoury anyway. He nodded, and paid their tab. He would take her into the bustling festival streets, which were starting to spring up and entice the town members into their stalls. There would be something there, surely. The walked, touching gently, hands, fingers, a grip on an arm occasionally. They were heralded to and fro, so many delicacies of the town were thrust upon them, few taking any form of payment, wanting the new faces to experience their festival, and their way of life. The more Wy’ziot experienced, the more he could see himself setting up a home close to this place; never within its walls true. He was too dangerous to do that, but a home just outside; offset from the road in, built by his own hands, stilted like this place, Bastion outside, and perhaps... a red-head, sat on a porch, sorting through her daily forage to create her potions and witchcraft for sale in the market in the town... yes... he could almost feel it.

As they meandered, their laden arms started to draw crowds of vagrant children, whom raced around the crowds. Wy’ziot distributed some of the snacks amongst them, keeping the items he was particularly fond of himself, but the children accepted everything they received, before racing off laughing and shrieking. A familiar yowling laugh of Ivak rang out a few times, and only was he seen as he chased other children, his speed and agility far outstripping them, but they didn’t seem to notice anything odd about it, and just simply reversed the chase. He seemed to be enjoying his games, and the two adults saw no reason to be concerned for him. More treats were purchased; crickets that were fried in a spicy pepper made Wy’ziot’s nose stream, and their texture was not one he particularly liked, but the wine she bought was most intriguing, and he smiled as she supped from the bottle and stoppered it, before handing it back. His eyes blazed a moment with mischief, but he secured it away at his belt, in whatever pockets didn’t have other items already stuffed inside.

Finally a food stall that enticed an enthusiastic response from Pan, and she ordered a bowl of alligator stew. She hummed her appreciations, and slurped happily on the slippery meat; so like chicken, but tainted with the slight fishiness of amphibious reptile. It wasn’t a flavour Wy’ziot could say he overly appreciated, but Pan seemed genuinely overjoyed. They walked from the food stalls, into alleys of quiet that lead toward the gaming festivities of the Passing Ceremonies. Their path blocked as it was Wy’ziot was not keen, and stopped to tug towards a different direction, his lip curling even before they approached due to the stench of drunken inebriation; but it wasn’t just alcohol. There was something more sinister; something brewed with reagents, a scent recognised from Panyin’s own stores and practices. Her confidence over the man not reacting was short lived as he purposefully tripped the woman, but his action was equally as short lived. Wy’ziot’s reaction was instant; the words had barely registered when the Wolf surged forward, and a clawed first bodily lifted the pathetic excuse of a man to dangle from the ground. He flailed a little, shrieked to be released. Pan’s touch brought him back, and the man was flung bodily away, and Wy’ziot didn’t wait to see him land, following the tug of her hands, focusing on her hand on his arm.

She led him to games, tests of skill, and he was encouraged to particulipate. Where he won, further people started to take part, and any prize was passed on to Panyin, whom kept what she wished, and other prizes passed on to passing children. The sun was getting low, and Wy’ziot, after the conflict in the alley, felt in edge, and could feel his need to escape heightening suddenly, his fear for others developing more prominently. Only Pan’s touch kept him routed to her side, to fulfil his promise to stay until dark. The second incident was swift, but with the Wolf pushing forward so speedily now, he was swifter, his reactions instinctive. People around them gasped and squealed as the flash of a knife glinted in the hand of the greasy man, whose feet swung clear of the ground. A few rushed forward to see in Panyin had been injured. The flash of Wildness in Wy’ziot’s eyes showed the beast inside for a mere moment, but whatever he saw, the greasy freak that had, still, the blade in his hand widen his own eyes, and start to struggle a little more to escape. The blade was wrenched from his limp grip as air and blood was cut off by the broad hand wrapped around his throat. The blade was pocketed, and people around them asked Wy’ziot to release the man. Again, more force than perhaps was required resulted in the man flying, landing in a pool that had floating boats in it, that was being used for a game. The man screeched at the treatment, and he looked for assistance around himself, but found himself ignored as he slurred out that the Man was not as he seemed.

Panyin was so matter of fact, Wy’ziot simply looked at her puzzled. His head was starting to swim, and it was proving difficult to understand Human nuances as the darkness began to stretch on further. The sound of the Monk captured his confused gaze a moment, but the man seemed more interesrted in Panyin. They spoke, and Wy’ziot’s body language fell back into obedient, quiet servant, head bowed, eyes distant, and he stood, barely registering the environment around them, beyond the instinctual. As Panyin motioned to him, and they followed the Monk, Wy’ziot nodded solemnly, and kept pace. The place they ended had a distinct air of worship, and all the congregation seemed to be prepared with their odd little drinks. Wy’ziot was directed to cleanse his palette, as the religious festival started proper. He nodded, and followed the Monk to the side benches covered in bowls to wash his hands, and then bowls with which to sup from, to cleanse his mouth and innards as well. He was carrying out what was required when a voice behind him turned him.

Her skeletal form was almost disturbing to view. She was so frail, Wy’ziot was concerned to walk past her too quickly for fear she’d dissipate and not really be a real person. Her words were stuttered, but he picked out the parts he needed. “I, um, wanted to speak with you... I hope didn’t offend. I… didn’t know your relationship to any entities and... And sometimes these are hidden from companions and...” She continued to garble. Wy’ziot’s mind phased out, barely registering her. She seemed to be something powerful, but Wy’ziot was simply so unshaded, his expression emotionless as the Wolf rose up. The girl seems to get yet more flushed, flustered, and made her excuses to move away from the incessant stare. Returning to his seat, Panyin pushes forward a large, tall glass they’d been offered. Wy’ziot swirled the glass. But set it down again. Again, her voice filtered through, but Wy’ziot’s gaze was preoccupied elsewhere, watching people attached masks of what appeared to be a white papier-mâché to their faces that looked like skulls, exaggerated in form, of their talismans. On a table not far away, Ivak sat with a group of children of all ages, looking at all the masks his table had on offer and picking a decidedly long faces, canine one; whether it was a Fox was irrelevant. Soon as it was upon his face, he was saying it was one.

The Wolf missed the potion slipped artfully into his drink, so preoccupied with taking in the sights of the festival. He turned slowly to Panyin, offering a slightly strained, sweating smile. He took his drink to hand, and toasted with her, before taking a large sip. He frowned at its weird metallic taste, the sting to his mouth. It roared in his ears, and seared his throat, sitting heavy in his gut. He shook his head, woozy. He sipped again; same result. “Pan...” The Wolf’s thunderous growl started to reverberate through his chest as he grabbed at himself; a large clawed hand digging into his neck, like he was trying to stop the swallow even after it had long been and gone. His vision swam, his limbs felt heavy. Like a snake beneath his skin, the Wolf coiled and prepared to strike. “Pan... ‘elp...” Around them, townsfolk felt the vibrations, and looked to the suddenly sickly grey giant, and moved to helpz he ushered them away, standing suddenly, and stumbling away from the drinks, and away from the tables. Away from a smirking, greasy face.

The Wolf screamed through his veins. Fire burned his nerve endings, and he hunched, violent shakes taking over his form. He pushed on, following his ears to where sound dulled; towards the docks, quiet, empty, no one working now as darkness fell, and the festival they had been waiting for was progressing. Panyin’s hurried footsteps followed his staggering path. He could hear her slightly panicked tones, but couldn’t make them out. His arm shot out to a wall to support himself; the muscles were swelling, and fur busting through with a violent jerk. “Pan!” His tone was higher pitched, freaked out himself over his lack of control, even in the last eve of Moonless sky. “PAN! Get avay...” They were alone. Wy’ziot ducked into an alley, Panyin following, trying to figure out what was going on; there was still time! He’d promised that it would be when darkness hit.

“Zhat... drink...” His words were lost to a snarl as his face erupted with fur, his bones snapping violently as he twisted away from her reaching hands, falling to his knees, heaving violently from the pain of the transformation, and whatever was ravaging his nerve endings. He forced himself back to his feet, and as he did, he continued to grow. 6 feet, 8 feet, 12. The Wolf stood, lifting its nose, and turning to face the woman stood, just staring. Her features were a mix of disbelief, of hurt. His maw slathered, and his tongue flicked out, saliva flicking. His body moved with speed, and a huge clawed hand lifted her, slamming her back against the wall. The alley was so close, too small for such a monsterous being. Claws grazed her clothing, seams popping in the shoulder where it yanked in the cloth. The large maw inched closer; it sniffed at her neck, trailing down, wet breath plastering against her form in the simple white shirt. He legs were spread by his own thigh as he stepped in closer, his venturing nose lowering further, scenting her, before he raised to stare the wild mottled eyes into her gold. His jaw dripped with saliva, and he leaned in, tongue lolling out, and leaving a slick trail over her neck, and the side of her face as he snuffled into her, changing his grip, to hold her arms above her head with one large clawed hand, and lift her yet further from the floor. The other ran down her torso, teeth glinting, as the lips were pulled back, his muscles bunching in his neck, as he prepared to strike.

He dropped her as suddenly as he had lifted her into danger, like he’d been bodily punched to his gut. He spun, vomiting violently, before snarling at the dropped womabX and turning tail, leaping into the dockyard, and following the coastline away.

Quietly, feet pattered forward. Ivak’s golden eyes were like saucers as he raced to Panyin’s side, seeing her roughed up, and abandoned in the alley. He touched her gently, in little pats, as though unsure how to check for injuries, so just patting her down in some manner to try and reassure himself she was still there. “Lady Witch... what happened? Big Man... he!! He just raced off!!” The young lad looked around at the destroyed clothing; he quickly raced forward, gathering the items that had been hung at Wy’ziot’s belt; the pouches, the pockets, the special pestle and mortar in its custom holder, the skull. The armour had uncinched, as he’d requested it to, in moments of intense strain, and this was gathered. The trousers were shredded. Again. Ivak felt this was an incredible waste, and that the Big Man must go through so many clothing articles with this tendency to tear through his clothing. He returned quickly to Panyin’s side, watching her recover herself, and check herself over. “Lady Witch... are you alright?”

 

[unais]

A growling shook through the table suddenly as she turned to the source. Panyin hadn't watched. Too preoccupied with her things, rather than Wy'Ziot. And in the second she hadn't paid attention, the glass scattering as his claws closed over his throat, the moment of her guard down had punished her. She hadn't thought such a little worm, so powerless and meaningless, could actually do harm.

Help me.

But even a pinprick to can be a crippling wound applied to an eye.

She ran after him, branches broken, and ground kicked up in his retreat.

Some followed, confused, and she stopped a moment, ankle deep in the mud on the hill below them.

"Please," her hand was out, placating, a smile polite, and quiet in its urgency to be listen to. "I need to be the only one. More people will make it worse." She stepped back, listening for where he stumbled, his footsteps far away. "... don't mind us. Just enjoy your ceremonies."

She chased his trail. It went long, so long they ran, ran until the noise behind them was quiet, then gone. Then silent. No one else. Nothing but his labored breathing, the groans within them, heaved, the heaviness of his footsteps dragging his weight through the sand and dirt. The water against moving against the shore, the wind over the grasses. There were buildings here, homes, or storages housing tools of trade for the water behind them and the forest beside them.

He steadied himself against a wall. The seams popped and tore in a crackling pitch with his voice, fur protruding from his skin, forced out from beneath. Pan.

Get away.

That... drink. She knew.

He snarled, his voice changing. His clothes tore into webs along his legs, breaking free when the hems snapped. He sounded in pain, worse than before. She realized as she watched him that she was helpless. She could do nothing. Not anything to aleve his pain. Nothing to help him. In all the power she had sourced from the world, bending it to her will beyond what it was supposed to do; what she valued most could not be touched by it.

He looked at her.

Before she had known it, her voice forced into her teeth as her body hit the wall. There was a hand pressed to her stomach, immense palm spread across her burning heat into her like fire. Her feet were dangling and that panicked her, no ground to steady her, and she yelled, her arm was tight against herself where she couldn't move it, the seam breaking over her shoulder as it tore down. Claws pressed painfully around her soft spots, not breaking skin but holding her tight. She was vaguely aware of the noises of pain coming unhindered from her voice, but she grabbed over the wrist, trying to right herself as if make herself comfortable. Lighten herself from the nails she was pressing into. They were close. So close; the alley around them pressing them in towards each other. His maw trained to her throat, the heavy breath taking stock of her, saturating her clothes with his drenching heat. She felt him between her legs, the furred skin of his inner body so hot like it burned. His nose probed against her skin a moment, before he paused and looked at her. She stared, likely hoping to catch a grasp of a creature she knew in those eyes.

It was not to be that way, as that maw dropped open, a drip of saliva coming off his fangs, coming onto her as he tasted her in a warm, slick drag, and she tensed suddenly to her restraints that were pulled up above her; an unhinged yelp from her lips.

She could barely see him for a moment, but in her bleared vision could tell the pose was to strike.

Dammit.

She was going to die here.

She shouldn't have followed? But that would not have been her.

She didn't want to die, but she wouldn't have done anything else. There was a moment, as she saw the teeth, of tranquility in that. Here was where she could die, but it wasn't from a mistake she shouldn't have done. It is what she would have chosen if given again.

Her jaw tensed in her throat and it turned her away from him. Of fear, of pain, and another thought.

If he was to hurt her, to kill her now: what that was going to do to him. What would happen to him after. And the pain that would cause him.

But there was no room to feel anything.

For the first time in ages, as he came at her, her eyes shut her out.

It'd been such a long time since she looked away. She always watched. Watched until the instant that pain hit. What pain was going to come, what was hers and others, she didn't looked away. But here: she flinched.

Pain hit the back of her head as it banged the stones on the wall and she held a hand to it, reorienting herself on the ground as the smell of vomit hit her as violently as he purged it. The daze was immutable, but she did not miss the snarl the Wolf threw at her before he bounded off. Upon several steps of his weight hitting the sand, the scratches and aches of the wooden dock, she bumbled up suddenly, chasing his sight to the end of the alley.

Her eyes found him in their darkness, the fatigue already addling her brain, her limbs and sight. Where he was going, what he was going to do, she needed to know.

And he was going away. From the town it seemed.

And for a moment she was relieved to think it was Wy'Ziot in there, controlling. But the sparks of her thoughts snapped small bursts through the fog. Reminded her that it was not him. He wouldn't have done that. And yet her mind had scrambled for that sense because it was not the Beast she knew. Not one who should have hestitated so, or held her in such...

More than a meal. Less than something...

Or that should hold her at worth of...

Anything.

She was sinking, and she let her knees hit the dirt one at a time, before she slumped against the wall. Her hands rubbed the bridge between her eyes. He would come back. He would always be back. And she would have no answers. Only questions.

But he did what he needed to do; which was leave, for the safety of others. She was relieved, in all facets. Her mind now couldn't simply parse who it was who had left. There was Wy'Ziot. Then a Wolf that accepted her and adored her at times. There was a Wy'Ziot and a Wolf she knew, who were together, when the moon was not full or nascent. Then, in all purposes, it always felt that there was a third one. This one that didn't accept her, knew her little.

In all these thoughts, the least of which was on punishing a little rat, in a little town.

Lady Witch...!

She was barely aware. Knew, but couldn't find the strength in her neck to acknowledge him till he came closer. Her eyes on the broken water, a long black mass and an abyss of ground without light.

She heard the scampers about, and stayed still in her thoughts, a slow guilt building as she knew she leant into her thoughts, allowing herself to ignore Ivak.

"Are you... alright?"

Her mind finally surfaced, softly breaking free from its hold.

She looked at Ivak, sat beside her. He'd gathered up all their things, neatly and unasked for, the most precious of them lumped atop a pile of their thrashed clothes.

She looked at him, really looked at him, and a chuckle formed from her throat. She felt like she was seeing some part of him for the first time. That he was an oddly good child. He tried to care for them where he could; did things for them without being asked. She reached out one hand, and he let himself be guided perplexedly into her short embrace, patting his head as it rest in the crook of her neck.

"Ah... you're a good boy, Ivak." It surprised her. He seemed just as mutedly surprised, just distressed alongside it. He didn't know what to do. What she felt. If she was alright in the head. His mouth opened to form words, uncertain.

"Lady Witch... do you need anything...?"

He wanted to help her. She looked at the strewn alleyway, and the items in his lap. At her open clothes and the slashes on her leg.

"...Yes." She'd no choice but to rely on some assistance. She was loathe to ask except from Wy'Ziot, but she felt it easily coming to her as she spoke to Ivak now. "Ivak..." Clothes, a tailor, healing potion to fix things up and the headache--"I--" She grabbed his shoulders suddenly, waking up. "My bag, Ivak," she'd left it at the table. "I need you to go get it, and make sure no one else has it." Her heart was beating. "Can you do that?"

He nodded furiously, unsure of what would happen did he say no.

She noticed herself, and loosened her grip just a bit. "And... clothes from my room. Anything is fine." A shirt, two shirts, or not.

"Try not to be noticed... if you can..." Said carefully, he looked in her eyes and seemed to understand, nodding again. She reached up gently and removed the mask atop his head, pushed back from his search for them. "I'll keep this for you when you get back."

He hopped up and, with a last look of her seemingly pitiful state, seemed reluctant to leave her but did. Panyin sat, waited, unperturbedm listening for if anyone was coming from the festival early, if any lived here in these buildings. There was nothing, her relief, just a long, ushered quiet of the reeds and brushes in the slight wind. Thinking of the Wolf that had thought it fine to eat the horse, eat Bastion and Ivak, and yet who had taken himself away from a gathered down of unassuming revelers.

Minutes passed, none of them counted, and a familiar scurry hounded up to her, calling her moniker, and handing her some extra clothes. He held her bag carefully, unsure of if he could drop it as it were; she valued it so highly.

"Thank you, Ivak." Her back was sorted through, and it looked like nothing had been touched. She didn't smell any fingerprints of skin that wasn't hers, and she drank from a bottle, the heady taste flushing her throat out before it buzzed through her limbs in a way and set everything straight.

With a sigh, she looked to their things and stood to gather them up, but stumbled forward, Ivak trying to catch her for it, as her strength held unsteadily and gave when she took a step. The fatigue was still there. The potion for it back in her room.

"Lady Witch..." An almost chastizing tone, Ivak gathered up their things in his arms demonstratively, waiting for her to stand well. She still picked up the skull from his arms, wrapped the bottles and things in the scraps of clothing so they could be helt without worry. Half and half, they walked together, skirting the outside of town, Ivak guiding her with his fox eyes, so that they would not be seen, left quietly alone, until they came onto a lonelier shore of the river where their stays were at.

There were a few little lanterns floating down the stream this way, one ducking under the stilts of the inn as it went on its way. Panyin hurried quietly inside, and they huffed both with releasing trepidation once inside their room. There, it was quiet and cold as an empty hearth. "Ivak." She said again, lumping the items on the table away from the window, and unwrapping some of them to place well on the floor to not be disturbed if bumped in the night. She put Wy'Ziot's things by his kit, beside the bed.

"You can go see the festival if you want to." He looked distressed again. "It sounds as though it only comes once in a while. You should enjoy it while you can; before you won't be able to see it for a long time."

"But... Lady Witch..." He paused, both of them waiting for him to continue. "Are you alright...?"

Unperturbed, she blinked. "I'm fine, Ivak. Just..." She sat on the bed, rubbed at her nose bridge, "tired..."

He came to sit next to her, his ears and tail about, tail wrapped around his leg in his trepidation.

"I've been fine. I'll always be fine. And Wy'Ziot will come back later... tomorrow when it's daylight. So don't worry about him." She paused. "Though I may need you to look for him... and bring him clothes, later." She leant over her knee to find the one shirt in his bag, though thought of how he might feel without trousers or pants.

They were quiet at each other. She looked at him and as she caught his gaze, smiled lightly. "If you want to come back early, you can always do that. But right now... time is wasting while the fesival goes on. And I am tired... I don't need to see it." She moved further back on the bed, prompting him to stand as she lifted the blanket to tuck herself into it.

She sat correctly, caressed his face with her hand. "You'll be alright?"

At this prompt, he nodded again more certainly, and stood, waiting just by the door for her to seem under the covers, before he paused and let himself out.

She was exhausted, and had let it come through as she talked. But once the creaks of his steps were gone, she looked out into the night sky for a bit. Over at the kit laid by her bed. Hers was just below as well.

It was cold. The blanket didn't warm her from the long trek fro the mud and cold grass by the river air to this wood room. She got up and found the wolfskin roll from her pack, and laid it down over her blanket. The light from the river had grown, in just small wickers of glowing paper boxes. She stared at the glow emanating from the window. Wondered what it was like without curiosity.

Her gaze fell upon the werewolf skull sat upon the clothes and chair. It'd been such a long time since she'd seen it. Unknowingly, her hand reached out for it, stroking along the brow of it, then grazing the mandible. She propped herself up a moment and hefted it, taking it onto her stomach and staring at it. As the weight of it hit her, atop her abdomen, the flash of his muzzle across her stomach with a tongue lashing across his skin and his teeth. Blood blushed to her face and she sat back, head dropping to the pillow. It sat, still, heavy across her stomach and she laughed a single chuckle.

She lifted it over her head, staring into its eyes, vaguely aware now that she knew not who this was. She was so far from knowing who. She turned it and placed it on her head, looking through it. She could not see in the slightest. It was dark, but not in fact heavy as she lay there.

The darkness was comforting, and she breathed it in, coming to the smell of him having worn it. Another quiet laugh, as she sank into her covers, and turned on her side to sleep, the skull over her head and eyes, covering her from disturbing light. Letting her rest.

Beside her, just below her, the river surged with paper lanterns drifting quietly downriver. The homes and docks flickered with long tallow candles, staying alive in the scant breeze. The spirits trickled along the paths illuminated; finding their way from the town. Meeting those who wished to say goodbye. Then drifting along the bustle of lights gently following the streams in the swamp. By daybreak, there were none left, or the few lanterns that could be found and seen, their lights had gone out. A tranquil solitude remained, any remnants of a spirit washed away by the daylight.