Herbalists' Cache The demon sat there waiting on her porch

Eventually his minstrations came to an end, and Tavi was left to rest against him. The sunlight streaming throught the trees could now alight across her features; she was not so marbled now by the mud, but her face was more sunken and tired than it had ever been before. Her cheeks looked hollow, and her eyes were dulled and bug-like, with shadows creasing parts of her face in an unnatural manner. As she sat there she only breathed. She rested. Each breath was quick though, and sharp, like she could not take in much air, and Stark would've easily discovered her racing heartbeat. As he spoke she licked at her lips, feeling the dryness of them, the roughness of her tongue, and then haphazardly leaned her face upon whatever part of him was near; his shoulder perhaps, or maybe she was going in for a hug. She sagged against him.

One ear was pressed against his pelt, and through his flesh she felt the vibration of his voice. It was soothing, deep down. He spoke of the pack but she did not know which one; she did not know the word at all, nor could Octavia recall a time when she was a part of something bigger — as far as her memory went, she had always been like this. Alone, confused, and weak. And then he said the name of her son.

She might have been falling asleep while resting beside Stark, but upon hearing that word, she seemed to startle. Her breath halted for a moment, caught in her throat, maybe she had forgotten how to do that too — autonomic functions be damned — but then the air rushed back in through her nose, and she was panting again, breathing rapidly. She had lifted her head and seemed to be peering around at the foliage and the shadow, as if to seek something. Tavi's eyes were ignited by the sunlight and for a fragile moment she looked like herself again — she even slurred some sort of sound, Eehn, which swiftly devolved in to humming, and then as she fell back against Stark she was silent once more.