Sun Mote Copse Holding out

To say he felt nothing for the disbanding of the Malkaria was an understatement. For him, the cult was merely a means to an end; a way to survive through the winter in relative peace, and well...they failed him in that. He only remains in the Mote because of some sense of duty. @Asherah 's pups are still young, barely able to speak. To watch them freeze to death, especially in this odd weather, would have been a pleasing sight, but he is too cold himself to simply sit and watch. No, he helped as best he could, watching as his herb stores dried up day by day. He tried to limit himself to one poppy seed per day, but soon found that he was still addicted to the little black specks. Withdrawal set in quickly, agitating the Doktor even moreso. He was restless, his nose dripping ceaselessly, his pupils dialated into specks as small as the opiods that caused his addiction. He wouldn't be of much help in this state.

She was slightly surprised but pleased to find that Bastian had remained in the area. The weather was rough, raining ice to coat the ground and freeze the already frigid snow. The cold had come and it held them tight, unwilling to release it's prey. Asherah thought this more proof of Molech's punishment, though she prayed that the Many Armed God would soon note her undying devotion. Somewhere she hoped that both Honey and Eshamun were cold in the storm. It was the only way she could make herself feel better about the situation, though she hoped that somehow the children that Honey had taken (even her own daughter) were warm and safe. The sins of the father were not those of the son.

She had just finished praying at the shrine, having delivered the bloodied bones of a hare. She had torn it before the shrine to melt the snow and stain the ground with red. She hoped this would please her God. As she made her way back towards her den and her children, she caught sight of Bastian and drew closer to him. She was alarmed by his appearance and her eyes widened. His pupils were tiny, smaller than they should be, his nose dripped and there was some kind of energy to him that unsettled her.

"Doctor." She called, running a critical eye over him. "Bastian...are you okay?" She knew that some plants could be addictive, knew that they did things to your mind and your body but she had never seen withdraw before. She kept her distance, fearing perhaps that he had the foaming madness her mother had spoken of once-upon-a-time. It made wolves turn on their families. If only Eshamun had a madness to claim other than selfish sin.

He paced incessantly, acidic eyes darting from this way to that, searching for nothing, only finding ways to exert the wanton energy coursing through him. He was not a man of physical action. He found no use in hunting and fighting when a simple, well-placed herb could cleave his targets. Finding things to do with his body perplexed him, catching him off guard in a way that Bastian despised.

The Doktor was not a religious man, but he found himself slurring some kind of prayer in the hopes of the snow melted and an early poppy flower sprouting from the ground, if only to give himself some kind of relief. He could stave off the dying part of withdrawal, but it did not mean the rest of the process would be pleasant.

He jumped at Asherah's voice, too busy moving and speaking quietly to himself to notice his surroundings, despite his fast-moving eyes. He did not stop his pacing, only slowing down some, but became aware that the snow beneath him had melted under his singular path. Ah...Guten Tag, Fräulein, He murmured, eyes darting to her form. My apologies for worryink you like zhis. I am fine,

She watched him, the energy around him further evidenced by his pacing. His eyes fluttered around and about like a startled bird, never landing long. She couldn't quite make out what he was mumbling, and she very nearly jumped herself when he started at the sound of her voice. He appeared to slow, though he did not stop to converse with her. She glanced to the dirt under his paws, wondering if he would soon be walking in a muddied pit if he continued with his pacing.

Thankfully, he did respond to her words and he didn't seem enraged by the noise she made. She knew the foaming madness caused that, anger and rage and sensitivity to sound. His voice was barely above a murmur when he replied, but she managed to catch it. She was not reassured. "Are you sure, Bastian? You don't look well." That was putting it lightly. "Is there anything I can do to help you? You aren't coming down with some kind of sickness, are you?" She prayed not. Having Bastian around certainly helped her peace of mind, pack or not.

She was right to be worried. It had been a long while since he had any kind of withdrawal, but never for this long. The German was unused to — unable to — cope with the removal of such a rush. He did not have much composure in the first place; opiates were the only thing keeping him lucid. Now? On top of his withdrawal, the man had to also face his wild, untamed inhibitions at the worst time; winter, stranded with a nursing female. Scheiße. I cannot be helped until zhe poppy flowers bloom, He said with a weary smile.

His only answer was a weary smile, as he told her that he needed poppy flowers to help him. Her brow furrowed and she glanced him over once. He did not seem injured, for she knew at least that poppy flowers could help with pain. "Arunik'ra's old den might still have some remnants left behind, if you're hurt." But he didn't looked hurt, and as she peered at him understanding dawned in her eyes. She frowned, regretting that she might have given him a fix.

"Why not use this time to break away from the flowers altogether? So you won't be like this when you next run out?"

She instructs him to search Arunik'ra's old den, and the Doktor's eyes light up with the prospect of the black seeds. He feels no shame at her sudden understanding, only tailoring back his excitement, coughing awkwardly. 

She suggests breaking away from the seeds, a thought that Bastian can't bear. The man snaps out of no where. Nein. He hisses, the thought of being without their bliss incomprehensible. I vill not do zhat, Fraülein. Zhey help me in more vays zhan just a simple fix.

His eyes lit up at the prospect of a few seeds, and though she was displeased she made no further comment on it. If he found some there, so be it. She would not fight to save him from this addiction if he did not want to fight himself. His harsh tone and sudden snap startled her, and she turned her gaze upon his own. She realized in this moment exactly how little she knew about the man, and she felt the hair along her spine prickle as she suppressed the desire to raise her hackles.

"The choice is ultimately yours, doctor. I will speak no more of breaking your habit, unless the day comes and you wish for it." Her eyes alighted on his face again, perhaps a little more guarded than before, a little more alert but it was hard to tell. "What do they do for you, doctor? I have heard only of the fix they can provide, I admit my cluelessness readily." Maybe he had a past he wished to forget as well, a dance too close to the edge of life and no one but the Poppy had been there to cast a rope to save him. Silently she praised Molech once more for her own life, but regarded the man quietly, hoping for some insight on him as well as his addiction.