Herbalists' Cache The demon sat there waiting on her porch

The cliffside that she had taken solace upon was far from her mind now; it had been days since Tavi's last visit among the wolves of Ryujin. She had forgotten the faces of the wolves that helped her within the hour, and even with the occasional jump-start of her brain as she roamed, she only thought of Ukko in fits and starts, and often did not know why. She remembered his silhouette the easiest; or maybe it was just the darkness of her many allies mixed together? The woman was long past being saved, as her brain had become a melting pot of ink-blot patterns. For each split second of memory she thought she had heaved up from the deep pit of what she once was, there were hours of confusion — days lost to her wandering, to her mind playing tricks. She was not crazy, she was sick, and was too far gone to notice.

Today, the creature that was once Octavia of Marauder's Keep, mother to the madchild Tambourine and lover of few (but a passionate one nonetheless), had found her way along the riverside of the Swiftcurrent and now stood like an obelisk among the swampy ruins of a forest. Behind her were the wetlands; it was obvious which way she had come based on the foul smell that clung to her ratted pelt and the fecund tint of her extremeties. She looked hungry (and probably was), yet her mouth hung open, and where saliva had once dribbled from her limp jaw, now there was nothing. She was parched. Her tongue was cracked and bloodied, and her eyes, they had stopped holding the fire of life so many days ago.

Her thirst knew no bounds. The woman had found shelter on the edge of the Herbalist's Cache, not knowing the name of the place nor having the wherewithall to care, and she did not move further. It was almost as if she wanted to go one way, then another, then another, and then forgot where she was, all within moments. The pattern would repeat — look right, look left, look down at the puddles of well soaked moss, and then restart. A few times she went so far as to dip her nose in to the mud, to slather her dry tongue with it, and thus dirt became trapped between her teeth. She did not think to spit it out, and when Tavi lifted free with a sickening squelch, she let the fresh layer of grime drip from her face. It was not satisfying.

With a sound that was closer to a mewling kitten than anything, she groaned a breath and stumbled between the trees, and then sank to her tired haunches. Her hips jut from her body obnoxiously, and the rest of her seemed ready to fall to pieces at any time at all. She was a bundle of match-sticks ready to be lit aflame. Maybe somewhere deep within her brain there were still some healthy cells? Some pieces that were untouched, struggling to make everything work as it should; it was enough, whatever was going on, to control the lift of her head and the desperate cry she sang out from her belly. There was no message to her call, only the out-of-tune rattling of the air.

His wandering had ceased some. Larkspur was home, though there was no hint nor hide of Pippin or Mordecai, and Tambourine had started to accept his mother's disappearance. It was hard seeing the boy growing up like this - his days that once had been full of fancy had dimmed with the realization it's not always perfect. Life isn't fair. His mother had vanished and Stark couldn't find her. His attempts had been slowed down to only occasional trickles out of the pack - now there was Amara and her puppies to deal with and maybe his bleeding heart should have stopped but he couldn't help it. 

He saw in her Octavia, alone and struggling, though Octavia hadn't quite been alone. The rest of the pack hadn't stood behind her properly and they'd never appreciated her for what she was while she was there. Now, her memory was tainted with whatever craze had swept her up. 

Stark had checked in on Amara before he left for the day, letting Banner and Rhodes know his plan to have someone around to keep on eye on Tambourine. That was his life. Check in with these guys, watch out for those guys, go go go - and the sable male was getting ran ragged. His pelt wasn't as shiny, and there was a constant state of exhaustion snapping at the Alpha's heels. Still, he kept going and doing because he didn't know what else to do with himself. 

He wasn't familiar with the Cache but just before he had decided if he would investigate or not a cry startled him. His breath hitched and his blue eyes got wide and before he could process any further he had called back, tearing into the territory, nose kept to the ground. He approximated where the call had rang out and then he let his nose take over when he was closer. When he finally saw her his breath left in a ragged, choked sob. "O-octavia," What had happened to her?

She didn't remember calling out. It had just happened, and yet as the noise settled between the trees, the moment slipped away from her — out of her control, and gone. Then there was a response. It was stronger, deeper, and puncuated with such a ferocity that Tavi cocked her head at it; she looked between the trees at the shifting light, watched the dust, watched and watched, as if she could see the sound itself and trace it with her eyes; and then there was a shape slipping towards her. It happened so fast, all of it. She couldn't react — but then again, she couldn't do much of anything. Her haunches trembled, and she took an erratic step, colliding one sharp shoulder with the coarse trunk of a tree. It didn't hurt.

The woman looked down, sort of. She wasn't paying that much attention now, and the stranger who had arrived — Stark! Screamed some tiny piece of her brain, to no avail — was forgotten. He spoke, and she lifted her eyes but seemed to see past him, see to many faces within his — Ukko, Reek, dark dark dark so much dark — and again her mouth opened, only to let her jaw hinge and hang uselessly. Her tongue lifted and touched at her top teeth, and a brief flicker of sunlight illuminated the dark mud that remained there. She looked more like an undead thing than a wolf; whatever parts of her remained were hanging loosely, or missing patches, or pit-like and empty. Clearly Stark had encountered her within the final hours of her life — as nobody could possibly survive like this for long.

He swallowed back the questions that rose up, hoping they'd bind with the bile that threatened to come up as well. Of course it was Octavia, he'd know her figure anywhere even in the state of distress as obvious as it was. He was slow to approach her and gentle as he reached to touch her. His nose pressed against her cheek, down to her jaw, to stop just beyond her ear. She'd been through alot, and she didn't even answer him - he wasn't even sure that she felt him or realized that he was there. "C-come here," He said softly, trying to guide her away from the trees and to a small clearing. 

"Lets...lets just rest." He offered dumbly, and any anger he'd held for her had dissipated from his body, gone and far away from them because he couldn't find it in himself to try and get back to the way he felt after everything unfurled. The pack was going to make it, the ranks felt full to bursting. Banner was helping him. What Stark could do right then was try and help Octavia. "I missed you," He whispered weakly, admitting it with such a tiny voice the opposite of the way everyone had told him so plainly how he loved Octavia. 

Even right now, with her miles away but right here, he wasn't sure he could say it - even if the truth of the matter was facing him and threatening to break him. Stark started to groom her, moving slowly - methodically - to clear her face and try to see more of her. He didn't know what else to do for her. He'd never felt so weak as knowing he had nothing he could offer her right then.

Whatever power she had possessed, whatever enthusiasm for life or great unyeilding spirit that once characterized the force that was Tavi, it had almost entirely left her now. To move was a struggle; to stand still seemed impossible too, as her body was quivvering and quaking with uncontrollable fits even as she sat there against the tree. She did not taste the soil in her mouth nor smell the layers of detritus that clung to the rest of her — everything was moot. Tavi was pitiful. But she was not in pain, or if she was, she failed to grasp the concept. So when his voice came to her again — soft and careful, as if any one syllable would cause the house of cards to tumble in to the dirt — she remained rooted to the spot. 

To an onlooker, Octavia would have resembled an invalid of some sort. Perhaps an old and wretched wolf ready for the grave, or a grandparent being tended to by a descendant. Her eyes were glassy and she could not focus upon Stark even if she had wanted to, even if it was the last thing she must do before the end; and thus she continued to stare right through him, even as he led her away from the tree trunk with subtle touches, and purred his desperate truths. She would not understand, but perhaps she did not need to.

When Stark began to clean her, she became more antsy. Tavi saw the shadow dance around her face and move to poke and prod, to clean and make better, and like a fussing child she resisted him - even going so far as to close her mouth across his face when he was too close, although it was a very weak motion, and her teeth barely touched his fur before she pulled away and hummed her dissatisfaction. For a second or two she seemed to be trying to masticate the open air, and her eyelids drooped sleepily. The woman's tired body began to lean upon Stark's then, and in finding him to be a strong support (much like the tree, or the many friendships she had by this point lost), her body relaxed.

Of course she fought against his attempts to simply clear her face off. Still, Stark persisted even against her teeth and their weak protests. It made his blood run cold, even as she eased herself against him. She was far away. So far away from him. Stark was not a healer, no amount of his passion to learn had given him much in the way of medical training. This was vastly different. This was something he couldn't control and he couldn't overcome. "You'd be so proud of the pack." Stark said softly, aware of more of her weight against him. She felt so tiny. She'd never been tiny. She'd been strong - she had been capable. She'd had a spark and a fire in her and it had swept him up. 

"Tambourine is so big now... He looks like you, still has that silly ear." Why he kept talking he wasn't sure but all he could do was keep talking. Trying to comfort her. A more logical person might have called for help for her - but instead, he babbled and let his emotional side over run him. With her face mostly cleaned - enough at least that he could see Octavia underneath it all, Stark stopped. He let them rest, a quiet patch of sunshine warming them, and a little bird somewhere sang it's song. 

Stark had changed a great deal since arriving in the Wilds. All that had happened, all that had come to pass was because of the wolf at his side. 

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.

Stark could feel her breaths as they filled her lungs - not enough, it wasn't enough - and her heart was racing. It was becoming more and more evident that whatever was going on she wasn't capable of responding properly to him. He frowned and looked her over, trying to see if there were any wounds on her, any signs of life or how she'd managed on her own in the past few weeks. The last conversation that they'd had played back over and over in his mind - her screaming at him, the rage she'd felt at him, and Stark felt a little shiver run the length of his body. For a moment Octavia leaned into him, face buried against his shoulder, almost to his chest. It might have been warm, it might have been sweet but something was still amiss. 

Selfish and scared, the Alpha let his head rest over hers for an all too brief moment, breathing in her scent as Stark closed his eyes. If he wished and hoped enough perhaps then when he opened his eyes things would be better - they'd be back to normal. They'd wake up to find themselves back in the Crook with Tambourine and Banner and everything would be fine. It would all be normal. Of course that wasn't the case and when Octavia pulled back and stopped breathing and Stark felt a choked sound just barely cut off in his throat. The light - it was back in her eyes and for a moment Stark wondered if she was there, if she was really with him, she even made some sound that might have been close to Tam but it was gone as quickly as it came. 

Octavia rested back against him and Stark swallowed back the wave of emotion in him, trying to be as strong as he could though really he hadn't felt so tiny and pathetic since his mother's death. "I've got you, honey." Stark said softly, shifting just a slight bit so that her weight was cradled against him and he could embrace her better. "You just relax, everything....everything's okay, sweetheart." It was a lie. It was one that he longed to be true. 

Just relax.

Some part of her wanted to just slip away to the sound of that voice. It didn't matter so much that it came from Stark. The sounds were comforting on a basic level, and maybe familiar in the sense that she hadn't heard a voice for so long, and now could listen to one. She wasn't alone. Maybe Tavi did understand him and her body was simply out of her control? There was no way to avoid listening; she seemed to burrow closer, or maybe lost a little more of her sense of self as the moments wore on. Either way, she stagnated, doing precisely as he wished.

Except not really. Stark couldn't have wished for her to end yet — to fade and leave him, and Tambourine. He was wishing so desperately to be normal, for everything to go backwards, but there was no way to avoid the progression of this disease. As Tavi relaxed her heart seemed to slow, and tire, just as the rest of her already had. Muscle spasms remained a constant thing throughout her body (her haunches, her shoulders, sometimes one eye closing and opening), but her breathing leveled out.

It was not yet time, but close. Maybe all that she needed was someone to bear witness to these last moments? Someone to usher her on to the next stage.

A million thoughts went through his head. Every moment that they'd spent together, the plans they'd whispered and laid out - things that had never come to fruition. Stark could replay them, think of everything they'd said and everything they had shared and everything they had done and the fresh wave of emotion rose up in him. Stark trembled a little but Octavia seemed to settle and as if the two were trading off the level of distress they were in. 

A wild thought ran through him - maybe he should call Tambourine, maybe he should call Banner and Rhodes, maybe Octavia should be back home along her willows and her Keep, surrounded by wolves who cared. But then he wasn't even sure that they did, not anymore. All they remembered and all they would know was that Octavia was the reason that Pippin had ran and it had set in motion everything that had come to pass. Stark brushed his tongue over her brow again and wondered what calling anyone might do for her. 

Octavia was too far gone to recognize what was happening - Stark might not have known anything about medical healing but he knew what this was. All that calling the pack might do would be to send Tambourine into hysterics and he couldn't bare to see the boy like that. Not right then. He could think just a little while longer. "You know...you know I love you, right?" He asked softly, dumbly, as if she might wake like some princess in a fairy tale and everything would be okay. "I would have done anything for you...And...and I can do this too, you just...you don't worry. We'll be okay, Octavia." He whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion. 

He had thought himself distressed and hurt and upset; in reality the pain was just beginning. This would be the match to the kerosine of his despair.

He spoke to her so softly then, and while Octavia did not really comprehend what he was saying, she seemed to respond to it. She started to hum in tune to the beat of the syllables - a second or two after he spoke them, but still, she heard and she reacted - but the sounds were so dim that they remained as undercurrents to his statements. The sounds began to hitch in her throat after a minute or two. Her breath struggled to claw its way up her throat and out, and she was idly opening her mouth as if to plant a kiss upon him, as if she were drunk and yearning for affection, when really she was gasping for some air. She tasted the musk that hung about his shoulders and somewhere inside her mind, something clicked.

Tavi murmured something small and insignificant - although anything at this point could be misconstrued as the most significant thing she'd ever said - and she sucked in a desperate little breath. Her lungs were failing. The little motor that was her heart, having been working so hard and so quickly, had finally reached a point of stillness that the rest of her body had begun to slow down. Stark had soothed her - he had killed her.

As she nibbled at the air, and at his fur, and at the memory of something (a shard, to pepper her mind), Tavi sighed, luh, luh... een.. eehn, and then she was still. Her eyes remained half-lidded, but the light was gone.

Her soft hums might have soothed him - maybe to be tied to the memories that she'd shared with Tambourine as the boy had grown. Maybe if they had come here before - when things were still good, and they were happy. The little vacation they'd always talked about. Maybe he could wish enough and it would be easy for his mind to convince him of something happy but he was too logical. He was too embedded in the reality of the situation. She was stuttering, stilling, and no matter how much Stark wished he could heal Octavia he wasn't enough to keep her. 

It would have been selfish to try, considering her state and how she was behaving. Her body was relaxing and he was so tender as he gently rested against her, every breath that he took in almost stolen from her. It was overwhelming, considering these last precious moments and how guilty that he felt for what had come between them. Maybe they might have been happy together. Maybe if she had stayed he might have been able to find someone to stop this. Maybe if he had gone after her she might have come home to spend her time with her son and even if this was still the path set upon the woman it might have been with more fond memories for her son. 

Now all Stark could do was stay with her and he would. He felt her body still twitching, still trembling, and he hoped that whatever he was offering her was enough to sooth her and keep her comfortable in the last little bit. "You'll be so missed, sweetheart." He said softly, realizing with a horrified whirlwind that she was fading quickly, far more so than he'd realized. 

A few scarce syllables left her lips and Stark's ears cupped towards her, trying to process them, hoping he'd remember them - but the moment would come back with easy clarity. Octavia would meet him in his dreams, nightmare and dreamscape all in one. Stark met her eyes, finding them glossy and dimmed, and he couldn't handle it anymore. Realizing that her breath has stilled, her heart ceased its beating. He buried his face in her fur and finally allowed his emotions to overcome him.