a wild naturalist thread appears! :0
A satisfied breath expels itself from Witchdoctor’s lips as he studies his morbid collection: skulls and spines of small rodents, a collection of smaller, ritualistic bones in a small bird nest he’d snatched off the ground after dumping the eggs out after the nest had presumably fallen from a tree. The fate or lack thereof of birds was hardly his concern and certainly not his problem. He scoops the large fan leaf acting as a package around the lavender hyssop he’s collected from the mainland — taking advantage of what’s left of the sandbar — into his mouth and walks three steps before he deposits it in the empty poison cache. A giddy sense of excitement fills him as he tucks the leaf packaged flowers into the hole in the earth he’d meticulously dug and then works to re-cover it. Though in small doses it can soothe coughs and be used as an antiseptic he has gathered it for the the epileptic reactions it can induce if taken in large doses. The Witchdoctor is careful to mark the toxic cache: with a squirrel’s skull not yet picked entirely clean: bits of flesh and fur hangs from it in places. It will work nicer as a marker for the children because while it’s toxic to adults it can cause children to have seizures and convulsions.
If there is anything of him in the older children and the newborns ( when they got old enough to venture out of the den ) then they’d be smart enough to understand the warning …or better yet leave his medicinal/poison caches alone. Period. They are his and if they want to play with flowers there are plenty of harmless wildflowers for them to frolic in and munch upon; and if that wasn’t good enough than the little beasts had what was coming to them { enter assholish, supercilious shrug here }. Witchdoctor might not be able to avoid being a father to them but there was never any promise that he’d be a good father.
The voices in his head were quieted, muted, tempered by the Isle; though if he listened close enough he can hear faint whispers. He doesn’t listen. Instead, he studies his little decoration/warning and picks it up betwixt his lips before moving it to the left an inch before he takes a step back and bows his head low to study it, ensuring that it sets just right over the earth stamped down by his paws.
Tapat kept himself against the ground, unsure if he should move or not. He kept his eyes on the other to read his body language. At least that was something he could understand. Tapat was so confused because this Witchdoctor traveled with them. Tapat was certain of it because he practiced everyone's names and scents until he remembered. But now this wolf was telling him that he wasn't Arturo?
Tapat blinked at the man spoke. He seemed really confused. The words he was speaking weren't really connecting in his brain. A different personality? Tapat just stared at him in confusion. His feat slowly ebbing away as he was forgetting the previous outburst. "Um... Okay," he spoke hesitantly. "Can I help?," he asked then. He liked helping and perhaps that would make the other like him more.
lolol. tapat is a treasure. ♥
At the display of submission that Tapat offers him: head hung low and tail betwixt his legs Witchdoctor lets out a low, unconcealed huff of exasperation and rolls his eyes, wondering if it were possible that they could roll out of his head. He was fairly certain he’d been fairly clear: he wasn’t a leader. It’s not that Witchdoctor overly minds the submission itself: he rather likes that it conforms to his ideals of superiority in himself. Rather, he does not want to be a leader and besides Undersea already has a leader. Or leaders. It’s not entirely all that clear on who’s actually in charge of this Isle and frankly doesn’t give a damn. As long as he’s left alone to do his own thing his newborn children could be crowned the alpha pair and it would be met with the same matter of indifference by the Witchdoctor. He does not crave control as his gangster counterpart had and it’s extremely liberating: not having a fuck to give.
Witchdoctor cataloged that Tapat responded the best to having been given a task. Witchdoctor had, initially, intended to help but Tapat had already gotten started and the madman didn’t wish to interrupt the pallid boy’s concentration, thus the doctor reclined back upon his haunches and was content to oversee the work from his throne chosen spot. Evidently, completing the task made the boy jovial again because he was peppy and happy as he declared that he did it. Witchdoctor might have admired that resilience if he hadn’t suspected it had something to do with a forgetful memory. “Yes, yes, admirable work boyo.” Because Witchdoctor still couldn’t remember his name and figured that if he didn’t make an attempt to learn it that it might become very exhausting to specify which ‘boy’ and ‘girl’ he means besides saying ‘Not-Arturo’s’ though that was how he classified Ceallach, Eirlys, Seri and Tapat in his mind. “What was your name again?” Witchdoctor inquires, gaze lingering upon the younger male.
I know. He is so wonderful, haha. Love him so much <3
Tapat let out a happy whine in glee when the other said he did well. His tail wagged along with his front paws moving in excitement. It was almost like a happy puppy. Basically, the boy was still a puppy. The pallid boy had forgotten about the whole ordeal from before. He didn't think that Arturo was dead, but when he looked at the other and thought 'Arturo' somewhere in his brain it said it was wrong. Tapat decided to disregard it as he did a good job and he was extremely happy about it.
The boy was asked what he was named. Surely, Arturo knew his name? Wait, no. Not Arturo? He blinked at the other for a second when he realized that the other must have forgotten like him! So he would help him remember like the others would help him remember.
"I'm Tapat!," he spoke enthusiastically. His head carried a bit higher now he had done something right.
"Why are the plants like that in the sun? Can we eat it?"
Tapat was curious enough to ask a lot of questions. It seemed that the male was not more eager to answer his questions. Tapat nodded and quirked up his lips. "Oh Okay," he spoke and then looked from the seaweed to the male. He explained some more. When to eat it. It was just a snack. Tapat let out a soft nod. He knew Hemlock was a healer. Was this guy a healer too?
"Can it heal anything? Hemlock is a healer! I help carry her plants! Sometimes she explains what they do, but often I forget," he chatted. He knew he was forgetful, that he had a condition. His short term memory wasn't working well, but once he did remember something he didn't forget it quickly.
Tapat sat down and listened. He would forget about it anyhow, but he liked that someone was talking to him and spending time with him. Tapat had always been curious enough to ask about things, he just had the problem of not remembering it. The young wolf would always have problems with his short-term memory. Luckily his long-term memory still worked. The male asked him something but Tapat was confused for a moment. "Teabag? What?," he frowned. He wasn't sure what the other meant.
The pale youngster kept his curious eyes on the other. This time however his mind helped him. "Teaghlaigh?," he asked. It was repeated so much to him, as they were a family, that he remembered it. But by now he forgot the question the other asked him. He stared a bit blankly at the other. "What about it?," he asked curiously.
this seems like a good place to wrap this up! feel free to reply once more or archive as is. :-)
Tapat capitalized upon the Witchdoctor’s struggle to remember and further pronounce Teaghlaigh which pricked at the greying coywolf’s annoyance, in which the Witchdoctor’s patience had begun to grow incredibly thin as he’s corrected and then asked ‘what about it’. It’s truly not the pale boy’s fault but Witchdoctor cannot stand repeating himself. If it’s something he truly wants to know he could always ask Hemlock, or one of the gangster’s spawn. “Nevermind. Go. Run along and see if Hemlock needs anything.” Witchdoctor says with the intent of shooing the boy away. The Witchdoctor’s kindness ( if one could even dare call it that ) has been spent for the day and now he wants to be alone to collect more treasures for his collection while his seaweed dries.