Wheeling Gull Isle and the worms ate into his brain

set day after poppy overdose. AW!

The sun was bright. She didn't remember it being so bright, before.

Maegi lifted her head and immediately brought it back down, wincing at the headache that split her skull. Her mouth was dry as a bone, each and every muscle aching. She squinted against the glare, looking around for somewhere more shady to rest. Yet even if she found such a place, could she drag herself there? She felt weighed down by thousands of pounds, a whale sitting on her head.

Helpless, the girl laid there, more irritated than anything. All she remembered from the night before was that, against all the advice she had ever given, she had taken too many poppy seeds. Things spiraled out of control. She had no recollection of what had followed--simply a blank void in her memory. The taste of poppy on her tongue. . .and now, a pained existence under a scorching sun.

She could do with water. Maybe a bit of food, too; her stomach grumbled, as if concurring with her irritation. Maegi pondered the idea of going back to sleep. She was dreadfully tired, the feeling of it pulling at every part of her. Her thirst and hunger, evidently, were too great for that, and after a fitful attempt at slumber, the girl snorted, gritting her teeth and lifting herself up, and onto her feet.

And promptly fell back down in the dirt, landing painfully on her haunches. Reeling at the headache, she scowled, staring into the trees with a murderous expression. God help anyone who crossed her path, this morning.

He'd made it down to the beach and thought himself to be stuck, but with some effort Mou had managed to climb back to a segment of dry grass so as to get his bearings. When the boy finally came across a familiar path he followed it, and soon he found himself breathing heavily. The air was already thick with summer heat and it would only get worse as the hours progressed.

After a second or two to catch his breath, he got back up and began searching for the path that would take him to his hovel — at least it would be cool and comfortable there. He didn't make it far, though, before the familiar sight of Maegi caught in his good eye; he didn't think, he just reacted. The boy's body lurched and he staggered towards her, sinking to his belly when he was next to her, chuffing and whining with his useless airy voice all the while.

He was excited to see her — so, so glad that she was alright — and he was mindless in his affections, reaching for her with his nose and trying to bunt her chin, lick her cheek, anything that would convey that since he couldn't simply say it.

Of all the moments to be the way he is, this one pains him the most.

She had always had a soft spot for the disfigured and the damned. Ramsay and his stunted form, Relmyna and her scarred face, and now, Mou, who'd washed up so pale and helpless on the shore. Anybody else would have been received with scorn today, but her face lit up (as much as it would, anyway) upon seeing him, and she leaned into his caresses, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her skull with every small movement.

"Hi, Mou," Maegi greeted, her throat hoarse from the vomiting. She pressed her muzzle against his forehead, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent for a long moment. While others might have scorned her, the wolves of Undersea had received her with nothing but love. . .and perhaps Mou, most of all, due to his lack of speech. Even if he had judgments to make, he could not voice them.

The girl pulled back, the unblemished side of her mouth pulling upwards in a smile. "How are you?" she asked, ignoring the irony of knowing full well he was thinking the same about her. It was good to see him up and about; he had come a long way, from his wretched state upon arrival.

Her voice surprises him. It is crackling and strained, and he isn't a doctor so he can't make the connection between her throat and the poppies, but his ears fall back regardless and he presses his nose against her cheek again. She was concerned for him and that also shocked him, but it was closer to the norm so he let it slide. If she was worrying over him then maybe everything was alright. She seemed to be okay, anyways.

M'gee, Mou w.. w.. he wanted to say worried, and of course he could not. Instead he was gasping a little bit and the sounds were nothingness, just delfating wheezes. The boy was so tired of being unintelligible! They had fixed his legs, his ribs, his throat even, but still his voice was gone! He wanted to say so many things.

Hhh-eye whha sc.. sc.. scah, fuck just say it, scare-t, he managed finally, and huddled closer.

She sat patiently, waiting for Mou to get the words out. Not entirely speechless, really--but if this was as good as he was going to get, Maegi struggled to label him as anything more. Finally, he spit out the sentiment, and the girl blinked softly at him, licking his cheek, as if soothing a worried pup. She shook her head, a gentle motion, but ceased after her skull began to throb once more.

"It's okay, Mou," she crooned, eyes creased to slits, like a cat in the sun. "I'm okay--I promise."

For once, it wasn't a lie. The guilt, the terror, that had pushed her toward the poppy stash. . .it was all gone, replaced by an icy sense of pragmatism. She was, truly, okay now. Even if her head felt as if it would explode, and her limbs weighed down by countless invisible weights. In her mind, she was at an odd sort of peace.

Maegi didn't remember him coming to her side last night, but she was grateful for his presence, this morning. His face was preferred over all. "How are you feeling?" she asked again, tilting her muzzle in inquiry. "You're up and about."

There was something wrong with her. She seemed so... Calm. Unaffected. The chill she held wasn't strong but it was enough to make him notice, and Mou just wanted to squish up close to her all the more. Maybe she was cold now because she'd gone beyond wiggly and into some sort of near-death frightfest that he couldn't possibly fathom. His nervousness abated when she spoke though, because it was the same old Maegi — looking out for him, asking him if he was okay, and hardly thinking of herself. She would be okay and they'd make sure of it.

He couldn't say much about his current state, but his mobility was evidence of the medic's abilities. Without Maegi he'd never have been able to walk again; if not for Hemlock, Reed, Seelie — he felt a stinging in his good eye as he thought about this but any sheen was gone before it could collect, blinked away as he squished shut his eye and nuzzled close.

She still smelled like poppy. Medicinal. Comforting, in a way. He was just glad she was still here with him.

Oh, Mou. Sweet Mou. She didn't deserve him, or any of the wolves of Undersea, really. They had taken in a broken girl without thought, given her a home and everything that came with that--food, shelter, friends. . .family. Not that she was going to walk away from such blessings--but sometimes she felt like an impostor, who'd fallen into all of this by accident.

"You're up, making noise. That's good," Maegi commented, trying to steer their conversation toward him, toward the positive. He had made great strides in his time here, and she was both proud and happy. She didn't think he had much of a chance, when he'd first washed up. No one had.

She pulled back, staring at him with a smile on her face. "Teamouse," she murmured, lips pursed as if in deep thought. Truly, though, her mind was blank; she sought to stay in the present, with him. Focusing on the white wolf's recovery. "Do you remember anything from. . .before? Where you lived, who your family was?"

He smiled at her meekly, nodding in agreement — yes, he was better, it was good, yes, — but he wanted so much more. His progress was still so slow. Sure, he could breathe better and even stand up, walk short distances, but he still felt an ache in his lower back and his voice — he didn't want to think about his voice. All of this culminated in so many he could not ask: what next? Could he stay here on the island and work away his debt to them? Did he want to? What came before all of this...?

Teamouse, she murmured, but he didn't react. Mou knew it was a name (one of many things he had been called) however, it meant nothing. There was no resonance. But it caught in his ears and made him return to the conversation rather than linger in his mind's ambiguity. Her question made his smile falter; his jaw tightened and then he was frowning slightly, his eye dimming with an obvious moodiness, but he shook his head.

At most, Mou knew he wasn't meant to be here on the island. That it wasn't really home, at least originally, but he didn't know anything else. He could've mentioned remembering a hawk, or a cliff, or the underlying feeling that there was something missing — and of course that made total sense, he was missing so many pieces of himself. Mou couldn't (and didn't want to) say anything. His attention misted over for a moment as he considered things, but in the end he merely cuddled close to his friend.

She winced at the shake of his head, seeing the expression darken his face, his eye. Sucking in a low, deep breath, she closed her own eyes for a long moment, pondering what to say next. She couldn't imagine losing her memory of all that came before--it was the very foundation of her existence. How did one build a life from scratch? Even with all the terrible events that had transpired. . .something was better than nothing.

"You almost fell into the Void," Maegi remarked, accepting his embrace, her lips near his ear. "So did I, once. But we both lived--we both escaped. Sithis did not want us, yet." Icy pinpricks crept up her spine, little spiders made of snow. One by one did they march, marking her as the spiderling she once was--the spiderling she always would be. Sithis felt good on her tongue, felt good and right. Even here, in the land of the sun and surf. The Father was here: the Father was everywhere.

She pulled back, a newfound respect entering her gaze. "Death came for us, and yet here we are," the girl whispered, her lips parting in an odd sort of half-smile. "We're special, Teamouse. Blessed by Mephala, even by Sithis himself." The words rolled off her tongue like raindrops before she could even stop to think of their meaning. Did she sound ridiculous and raving? Perhaps, to him.

Did he care?

The void—it was an appropriate name for it filled him with worry upon hearing it. The boy could recall bits and pieces of being in the sea, mostly the emptiness that filled him when he was deep beneath the waves; those brief moments where the water swallowed him up so eagerly. He could not remember rising up again or crashing in to the rocks, or landing earthside on the beach. The water had cleansed him—this void—it had emptied him of everything and now, as he sat here with Maegi, he was struggling to find those pieces again. Maybe he was not meant to.

He listens to her with a dreamy glaze upon his face. As she speaks of Sithis he does not appear to hear her, not until she says his old name, —Teamouse. Blessed by Mephala, even by Sithis— and finally he stops mentally drifting between past and present. There is no use in trying to stir up memory of what came before the escape from the void. As he returned to himself he forgot his issues with speech and asked, Ssith-is? But, oddly, it was a word that flowed quite well from his ruined throat. Perhaps that was a sign as well.

The one eye he'd been left with was quite beautiful, wide and golden. A window to the soul that had endured so much and still lived to tell the tale. Well, not 'tell,' quite yet. But someday, perhaps, when his throat healed. Teamouse would have many stories to give the world, when he could talk once more.

Even as Maegi pondered his return to speech, he was speaking, giving her one hushed word. Sithis. The sound of it curled her mouth into a wide grin; the carnage of her left cheek might have made the sight of her joy macabre, but she thought nothing of it. She was simply happy for Mou and all the progress he had made. For placing the name of her Father in his mouth, his to keep forever.

"Yes," she answered, a delighted giggle in her throat. "That's right--Sithis. Our Father--Lord of Death. If he'd wanted us to die, Mou, he would have taken us already. But he didn't." Maegi inhaled, a shuddering, exuberant breath. She shuffled her paws, wanting to spring forward, to dance, to feel the warmth of the sun on her back and live.

It was all she had ever wanted in life, to be a voice for the daedra, to spread her family's truths cloaked in lies and deceit. And she had done it. She was doing it. The very thought of this had all but eliminated her headache, and her thirst was suddenly slaked.

She pushed her nose gently against Mou, pressing her skull against his neck. "I'm so happy I met you," she whispered honestly, fervently, closing her eyes against the warmth of his pelt.