What had transpired upon the coastline still intrigued the male, and he had set off to the warm springs with a bundle of herbs and a lessening limp with it upon his mind. As before, he meant to create a potion from the plucked plants, and carried them in his ragged-edged turtleshell.

As he arrived, a bout of exhaustion gripped him, and he dropped the shell upon the warm ground, jaws parted with panting. A brief niggle of worry wormed into his mind at what these constant sessions of fatigue would mean, but he put it aside. He was dying, was all; there were thoughts better created than in contemplation of an old man's mortality.

But still he rested, watching the waters foam and boil with their mysterious steam.

Cold gaze swung toward the shadow that addressed him, and he gave a low grunt of welcome. Hawkeye. The last time that they had met, she had been rather more seductive, but her adoration of Sos had earned her the shaman's grudging respect. What brings you here? he inquired, grasping the shell between his jaws and trudging toward the nearest spring.

Emptying the contents into the bath, Lecter stepped back as the water roiled, ears curved to hear Hawkeye's words, his stance inviting her to draw near. He would welcome her company this day.

She drew near to him, and Lecter regarded her curiously, noting how close she had come to him, but did not trouble himself with such things for long. The tangibility of her frame showed him subtle changes, and her scent had not remained the same, as well. I have been growing old but not senile, not yet, Lecter joked to Hawkeye, his eyes fixed on the hot bath of bubbling herbs.

You have children now, yes? he observed dryly after a moment, wondering if they had been fathered by the hale shadow he had harassed with a muskrat some weeks past.

And yet you are not happy, Lecter muttered, dipping his muzzle to grab a long stick and plunge it into the herbal brew. "Stirring" the waters awkwardly, the motion soon strained the muscles of his neck and he tossed the implement aside. Jaws then closed' round the tortoiseshell and he let it dip into the odd-smelling soup, intending to scoop up a bit of the liquid.

When he had drawn the medicine from the spring, and let the shell with its burden alight upon the ground, the shaman returned his attentions to Hawkeye. Where has your happiness fled?

But still he rested, watching the waters foam and boil with their mysterious steam.

He lowered his head to dip tonguetip briefly into the liquid, tasting it for heat and flavour. Grunting at the sting of the fire upon his muzzle, Lecter glanced toward Hawkeye and her woeful tale, he settled his haunches on the ground to regard her implacably. So kill him and take back what is yours, or take the children out of the Plateau where you will. His voice was cold, but he had only affection in his heart for the woman. Sos had blessed her, only to take away that which He had given; such was His wisdom and His might.

What holds you back from reclaiming these things, Hawkeye? Lecter inquired at length, not recognizing this despair that had come over she who was once a fierce follower of Sos.

Truly a conundrum Hawkeye found herself in, but she had forsaken her duties to Sos. He who giveth shall also take away, woman, Lecter growled gently, turning to fully face her. Your happiness clouded your duty to your God, and so He is punishing you for it. Fear not; when you have proved your worth, He shall lift these travails from you. Icewater eyes fluttered shut for a moment; the shaman's thin chest heaved with a breath.

Be a mother to your children, and teach yourself not to chafe beneath the rule of the others, he instructed her. And lift up your voice to Sos; sacrifice in His name. Invite Him to you, and He will come. He will reveal your path once more, Hawkeye.

He was silent for a long moment, gazing at Hawkeye as if he had not heard her.Yes, he said presently. There was a time when I did not do the work of Sos. I forged my own path when I was young, in the distant, snowfilled lands, but He found me when I was two years of age, and I have served Him ever since.

Serving the Dark Bear is not easy, Hawkeye. I have killed in His name. I have tortured in His name. In the beginning, I did not wish to do these things, but it was His desire, and His will that I heed Him. He regarded her with vague fondness. He is not an easy taskmaster. What about your mate caused you to stray?

Lecter was a stranger to the inner workings of a woman's mind, and therefore he did not understand, nor care to understand, the pain and rage Hawkeye now experienced. His expertise lay in the realm of the spirit world, the dark paths forged by Sos for his servant. Yet his eyes held minute concern for her, if not only for the fact that she had lost her way.

Drink, he ordered, indicating the tortoiseshell half full of murky liquid. Poppy, chamomile, and a hint of mushroom. You will see His face again; you will also relax and sleep. He fell silent then, waiting for her to speak, to accept or deny his offer.

He tensed when she touched him, but did not pull away, believing her gesture to be the result of the liquid she had immediately consumed. Lecter remained standing even as Hawkeye collapsed, and gave a gentle smile at her words.

We are not suited for one another in such a way, woman, the shaman muttered softly, relaxing himself to watch over the woman as she slumbered beneath the effect of his potion. Lecter spoke truthfully; he had felt affection for Starling, and something akin to love for Valkari, but it was Jinx whom his heart desired above all else.