He had taken to tending his wounds with the dwindling supply of lemon balm and comfrey, and growled as he laid his eyes across that which he had left. Lecter would need to venture forth and gather some more, though his ill-fated excursion for sage had left him wary. Jinx had not come to him, but some bitter part of him doubted that he would welcome her company.

It was the way of the world, he supposed, lifting himself to his paws and meandering down his personal trail through the woodland, that the young should come together. Lecter knew he had little in his ageing form to offer the ivory sylph; he would die long before she reached the peak of her years, and now he would die without having left her children. Perhaps the dark male whose name he did not care to know would grant her that; perhaps Lecter's progeny was doomed to belong to the spirits, in one form or another.

Entwined in his hateful thoughts, the madman placed muzzle to the loam, the keen knifeblade of hunger twisting in his gut. There was little chance that he would catch but the bravest, stupidest creature with his healing injury; better luck would be had if he sought out a cache. Stubbornly, however, the ice-eyed witch cast his senses about instead for supplies to replenish his gutted stock, in case he was called upon again.

But it was not the sharp citrus of lemon balm that flared his nostrils, nor the earthen fragrance of comfrey. It was a scent that all at once pierced his heart and set his hackles soaring; Lecter regarded his former lover with a carefully neutral expression painted coldly upon his features.

In the next moment, he turned away from her, disregarding not only her rank and her ability to command him, but her, the very loveliness of Jinx, the remembrance of her touch. Stride lengthening, Lecter prepared to leave her presence.

He did not wish to hear her, to have her words sway him. His jaw tensed as Jinx sounded her cry nevertheless, and the swiftness of her paws quickly outdistanced the loping trot he had set for himself. Yet his icewater eyes did not move to meet the flames of her own; he recalled how they had glowed with desire for her lover. "I have no claim to you, Jinx," Lecter growled, continuing in his movements — where, he did not know.

As a Kesuk, he knew well the persistence of her lineage, but the witch was not inclined to listen. She was free to go where she pleased, to tumble with whom she deemed worthy of her lovely body. He simply would not be foolish enough again to succumb.

Lecter cursed himself for the hot jealousy of a scorned lover that had lashed him since he had seen her with the nightfall male. He was, he reasoned, too old to be so involved in the proceedings of the young; pain had struck him when he turned his full attention from Sos. And so he pressed on, jaw clenched closed stubbornly, eyes refusing to look upon her, lest she sway him from his determined course.

Irritation mounted in the bloodstained Eta; the quick pace aggravated his healing wounds, causing a limp to enter his gait. Pausing, finally, Lecter turned and grasped the eyes of Jinx with his own. A myriad flicker of emotions played across her face, but his heart remained hardened against her. "It is apparent to me that you have chosen another. I ... saw you. With him. I went to find you one night."

His words were breaking apart, and so he stilled the jabbering of his tongue. Commingled pain and confusion gripped him, a sensation he had never before felt, and he was quick to decipher its genesis in the jealousy he still felt keenly. Jinx had pushed him away, had disallowed his presence — but she had gone to a wolf other than himself, and it was the simple acceptance of a threat to his masculinity that inspired his reactions, coupled with a still-fervent love for the slim nymph.

He listened, but he did not believe her. Not at first, until the burning verve of her eyes, the sodden urgency in her voice, coloured the blasphemous words she spoke. She had thought the dark male was him, perhaps blinded by loss and fired by something ... something he did not truly understand.

Regarding her quietly, Lecter's eyes roved over the pale fur the other had touched, had embraced. He had left the scene of their would-be coupling too soon to know if the nightfall man had taken Jinx, and in truth he did not wish to know. "The loa blind those who show weakness," the shaman muttered, for she surely had in the face of the spirits, though he knew that the sylph was altogether strong.

Straightening, Lecter met the Kesuk's eyes with his own cold stare. He did not draw close to her, nor did he invite her near to him; the wounds of her betrayal stung though he knew now why she had done it, and believed him. "I will continue to follow you, Jinx," the madman said softly, simply.

Their dynamic had undergone several changes over the past months, but Lecter remembered vividly the bright-eyed, fierce girl he had mentored, and how with pride he had watched her blossom into a fiery paragon of spirituality, a fitting tribute for the eye of any God.

He was not surprised to know that the young Kesuk planned to leave. She had chafed below Fox; Jinx was not made to serve others. It tried her patience, reduced her to a brooding shell of what she could have been. Add to that the encroachment of the Vale — Lecter was removed from the rest of the Creek but he was not so distant that he did not listen to the gossip of the other wolves — and the death of her children due to Fox's foolish choices, and he too would have longed to leave.

Though Sos had marked the pups for His own, for death, Lecter felt that in some small way Jinx had grieved their passing. Though he too mourned them, the pale witch had sent a small prayer of thanks to the Dark One that He had taken them early; he would not have wished to watch Jinx slay them, and for all her strength of mind and body, he did not know if she could have done it.

Slowly, the madman moved toward her, drawn inexorably by the glow of her eyes and the stance of her body. Eventually, with a familiarity that caused him to sigh with contentment, Lecter reached for Jinx, seeking to draw her into an embrace, one that had too long been neglected. "I am yours to command, Jinx, for as long as I have breath. Of course I will follow."

Lecter preened the bulb of one ear, pleased to have her against him once more. The very marrow of his bones had called out for Jinx during their separation; he did not wish to endure the agony of her absence again, regardless of how she favoured him. But with her very actions, the shaman felt that his pearlescent Mambo returned his love, or at very least cared deeply for him. Surely she would not have cleaved unto his side had she not.

"There are too many dark spirits here now," Lecter murmured in a display of solidarity for Jinx's decision to depart the Creek. With the flaring insolence of the Vale, and Fox's unwise refusal to cut them down preemptively, before they struck and maimed the Creek beyond repair, now would be the most prudent time to leave.

Mentally, he arrayed a list of those whom the Kesuk would bring with her — Ira, for certain, and perhaps the dark male. Unconsciously he bristled at this possibility, but he would honor her choice. There were, after all, many subtle paths to killing a creature for whom he did not care.

A mountain. Lecter thought briefly, wistfully of the sprawling beach that had been Shearwater Bay, but his mind quickly arrayed the vast advantages to living upon shelves of rock. Seclusion, above all — it had been too long since he had been able to live without the irritation of constant visitors.

"It sounds worthwhile, my love. I will remove myself to this mountain with you." Pale muzzle, which he had lately realized sported hairs of almost colorless silver, something he had not noticed before, pushed gently against the crook of Jinx's neck. "Only let me die there, Jinx. I am weary of wandering." He would never cease following the Kesuk, however, no matter where she uprooted her band, Lecter would follow.

It was perhaps the first direct referral to the years between them to which the witch had made mention, at least in recent memory. Jinx was vibrant, filled with the ferocity and light which illuminated her every action and lashed those around her with fear or verve. Beside her, Lecter faded into shadow, but it was a dynamic he had always loved, that her light outshone his own.

"I wish to be yours, Jinx. I wish for us to belong to one another, in title as well as word, if you will have me." Pensively, he withdrew to seek the fire of her eyes with his own, unsure of how she would respond. "Speak truly; my love for you will not diminish." But neither would he ask again, and Lecter trusted his young lover knew this.

For a long, agonizing string of heartbeats, Jinx was silent. While Lecter knew that she was mulling over his invitation in her mind, she remained without words for so long that he vaguely wondered if his lover was searching for the gentlest way to reject his bold advance.

Her surprise did not escape the notice of the pale witch, and he gathered her closer against him. A rare smile curved his lips at her acceptance; he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her fur, a mingling of earth and fire and perhaps even a hint of the salt he would forever associate with Shearwater Bay.

Upon this mountain that she would claim for them, for her own, they would grow in a fashion that he could not understand until it came to pass. Though perhaps Sos would never grant them children, preferring that the only issue of Lecter's was Clarice, the shaman found true happiness in the Mambo. She was the binding tie between himself and the Kesuk line, the last remnant of the Bay; she was his confidant and his pupil, though at times Jinx was also his teacher, and Lecter was pleased to learn from her.

He nodded against her. Silence was his milieu; keeping his jaws tight around the other wolves of the Creek would not be difficult for the reclusive man. A youthful sound broke from her then, and Lecter let the pink of his tongue stroke her shoulder thoughtfully. "Of course; was it something specific that you wished to be taught?"

A low, thoughtful sound thrummed in his throat; he mused over the incantations he knew, and took comfort in the fact that she had come to him for new knowledge. A careful mull stirred in him; a porpoise. He would not have thought that such a gentle totem would have been Jinx's, and this was confirmed with her next words.

"I believe it can happen. We change as individuals, after all; a Totem that comes to you in youth may not be the one that lasts through your time as a grown creature." Lynx was his, but he had not felt Her presence in some time; perhaps the shaman would seek Her out.

Presently, Lecter moved alongside Jinx, inviting her with a vaguely playful expression to walk in the rambling direction of his den. 'Twas there he would ply her with the small, flowery herbs that induced relaxation, perhaps slumber.

For a long moment he held her eyes, simply basking in her nearness. Wife, mate; he had no true title for her, past the eternity of his love for her; his title for her was nameless, held in the quiet recesses of his heart.

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RE: I love you will still sound the same - Jinx - April 14, 2014

He invited her to move, though lingered, regarding her with something she almost would have called warmth. Lecter had no such thing in him, yet all the same, it was an expression she liked to think was reserved for her. She rubbed her flank alongside his as she passed, falling into step with him and mulling over his words. Her education on spirit guides had been brief, so all the traits of all the spirits were impossible for her to know. To behold Koios would have been very telling about why she had the guide she did, but he had died before her eyes had opened.

Her gaze shifted to Lecter with the realization that he was the closest thing she had to her father. To either of her parents. But he was distinctly different from them, not familial in the same sense but in another sense. Her titles for him were many, but of them all, she would state husband most proudly.

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