Honeyed Pasture for thou shalt not be cured

the breath of autumn was thick against the wind. it reminded the swarthy creature of his home, and there was some portion of him that missed the wild cries of the crows as they flocked overhead. try as he might, blackjaw could not recall specific things from his past. it was in this lack of memory that he found himself plagued. for all the wandering, the aark could not manage to spark the recollection that lingered in the back of his mind. there was something distant that clung to the fibers of his flesh, but he could not quite touch it no matter how he tried. 

the aark had abandoned the wolf he'd met on the beach, after some short while of chatting. blackjaw had never been the type to take kindly to the prattling of strangers, but his mind had not been screwed on well enough for him to fight it away. for all the things that he tried to pull from the depths of his memory, the only thing that stuck to him was the girlish voice of someone called spiderleg. the more he drilled himself, the less he could remember of her. it was that way until he had come across the scent of another stranger on the air. blackjaw turned his crown in the direction of the passerby and drank in the aroma of a creature so foriegn. it was too late for him to flee by the time he had latched the molten orange of his stare to the other figure. 

blackjaw stood with his limbs stiff and his muscles taught; he waited to see what this creature of the wilds would conjure.