Blackfeather Woods Insight III

Backdated to a fuzzy early-mid January 2020

I know I said I was going to get this up two days ago. Lawl.
@Rowan @Minnow @Takiyok

There was something strangely comforting about the fever dreams. Things melted. They were disgusting. The heat pulled in strange visions of beforetimes and the world beyond this. No doubt Takiyok had noticed him mumbling, flailing, kicking, even shouting in the poor excuse for slumber that had taken hold for weeks.
The strangeness, though foul and cruel to him, was a reminder that he was still alive. That, if nothing else, was enough for Taikon to feel thankful in the rare moments of lucidity that he was capable of such feelings. Gone was his wisdom. Gone were his ideologies and his concerns about Zephyr the boy leader. He was a shell of himself, rapt with anguish and pus and a glaring stink that called to death herself in the night. No longer was there comfort he could offer to Takiyok that he would be okay. He was not okay.
Somewhere within, the loving and ever present white knight lay dormant. Somewhere within, he found vague awareness of food placed in front of him, and would take it.
It was not clear whether or not he would recover, nor whether he would remain himself. Who was himself?

He reached out in the blackness, finding no peace, no solace, for his prior sins.

One of his members has seemed to fallen ill, in some capacity. An infected wound.
He could do wounds. Clean it, chew the herbs, and cover it. Then clean it every day.
He'd taken his time to gather them. Moonshadow had spoken of herbs for wounds in these woods. Used them for his scraped. He didn't remember their names, but he knew the smell and the appearance.

He didn't know how to gather cobwebs. But sap was sticky, so he managed to scrape some onto a broad leaf. He'd use it to lay over the wound.
He carried his small assortment of herbs to the northern members. Taikon and Takiyok.
He saw the woman poking her head from a den and chuffed, trotting the rest of the way with a soft wave of his tail.
He set down the sprigs of mint and what-not along with that leaf holding the sap, another placed ontop to keep it clean.

"Sorry I took so long," he cast a worried look into the den, the smell musky and wrong. This was worse than he thought.

Torture. Every noise found its way through the pseudosleep that plagued him. Each footstep was agony, scraping against the ice-coated earth in a cacophony of creaks and splits and knives against his ears. In the throws of his fever Taikon moaned, sure that he was dying, sure that Astraeus had finished him. How could it have been that the scarred boy had found him at the lake? Why did they all want him dead?
He recalled the eyes of Wylla, fierce and strong. He remembered the pleasant smile she had given him on arrival to Sagtannet. He had only wanted to settle down, to find some form of happiness. None of what had happened after was what he wanted. Into his web of destruction he had spun Takiyok unintentionally. Takiyok.
Taki... he whispered, for he knew that her warmth and her scent were nearby, but there was no colour in his gums nor his eyes. His paws were sticky with sweat. He shivered. The movement showed his emaciation more plainly.

The neck was swollen, and rowan was pretty sure it would make it hard for the man to breathe.
Thick and red, and probably pussy, not that Rowan would know.
He sniffed at the wound.

"It's not great," he mused, but they knew that.
"I'm sorry I didn't come and check on you, I thought you both just wanted some alone time."
He'd known Taikon had returned but hadn't seen him until now.
Rowan moved from the den and started to look around the bases of the trees surrounding them, pulling up the wettest of moss. This moss was thick clusters, like a sponge.
Rowan turned back to the den, clutching the moss in his mouth. He angled his muzzle over the wound, as close as possible, and squeezed the water out coupled with saliva. His Mother always licked his wounds so it couldn't be a bad thing.

Once he'd done so, hopefully without too much struggling from the injured male, he started to chew up the herbs, all with strong scents and a not completely unpleasant taste.
If Takiyok spoke, he'd be listening.

oops - he is very skippable in this thread honestly

He felt her face, cool to him while his own body burned in a horrid, ill fury. Pain plagued his joints. Though he could feel Takiyok close to him, her body seemed a shell, broken and distant. He was lost to a world of darkness that had no exit. This would be the prison that Taikon, prince of nothing, would die in, slow and alone.
Taikon barely had the awareness to sense the wetting of his wound, nor the discussion happening in the world of the living.