Felltree Marsh lives of the witching circle

lestan did not think he had ever wanted to kill anyone before; murder and its very thought appalled the man, twisted his belly.
but the deerbone talisman cried out for him, for him, and the mayfair filled with rage to think that its spirit was being tormented now.
oh! he fixed their minds in his face, that old crone and that hard-voiced boy; and in the spring grass his claws clutched, ripping stalks from their bed until he had created a small rough circle of bare earth.
to anyone else, it would seem as if lestan stooped to dig now, when in truth the darkened hateful glint in his eyes watched as his own paws described a mark he had never seen or writ before, a shape of sharp points and odd symbols; "tha mi a’ mallachadh d’ anail," whispered again and again. it was not a language he had ever known either, not before the fever.
now that same fevered, painful energy entered his paws, and he pressed them more harshly against the ground.
the circle, left behind, the man, plodding on as his horrible vengeance coalesced in the very core of him.

I’m just gonna… scoop this one up in my grubby little mitts.

Lestan had changed.

This on its own would not be too remarkable of an observation. Most folk changed, constantly shifting and growing and aging. The Mayfair man was unpredictable on his own. None of that mattered. The further inland they had journeyed, the more he seemed to slip into madness. Whatever grief-stricken curse had gripped him before was now gone and replaced with something darker, something frightening.

Swordfish watched him digging in the dirt, muttering his curses. He hadn’t eaten much. He’d barely slept. There was no telling how he might shift from day to day.

Lestan… he spoke up. Have ya smelled the two that took yer thing?

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"not yet, shardik," lestan answered, his voice almost calm save for the bleak darkness in his eyes. "i will know the trail when i find it."
the scent of the marshland was foul and strong. he wound around great trees fallen long ago, navigated pools of mud with unknown depths.
breath bones eyes lips curse curse curse
when he found her — !
when he found that man — !
and a chasm of horrible imaginings opened sweetly in his mind; torments for the theft of what was his.

Shocking as it might seem, Swordfish might have preferred the grief-ridden and sorrowful version of Lestan. At least he had been easier to herd toward a goal. To bounce from one madness to the next…

When Lestan answered, his voice was calm. Swordfish’s ear swiveled. The dark of the other man’s gaze was unnerving. Beneath the serene tone of his response was a hungry and bleak beast of wrath. It unleashed its power when Lestan would growl his curses and claw at the earth.

What uh- What are ya gonna do to ‘em? What if they got friends?

haunches lowered to the earth; teeth plucked unhurriedly at the grass and dirt caught between his claws. 
but you cannot
but i must
that woman, she had known it was important to him. and that boy, he had followed her bidding. in pretense she had offered a kind word; he felt again the shove of her shockingly strong arm, and ire licked pleasantly inside him again.
this was far better than being dragged from place to place by his own grief. so long as she kept his amulet, he would know where she was, a monstrosity yanked from an enchanted artifact and released into the world.
lestan scratched idly beneath the tracker around his own throat and stood. "they knew it was mine, sacred to me. nothing to them. they stole it all the same."
there would be no answer for shardik. the mayfair began to trot through the marsh once more, senses extended to trembling lengths and searching for the bonepiece.

Swordfish didn’t really get an answer from Lestan. His teeth clenched and he lowered his head, following after the erratic and scrambling figure.

Another question lingered in the back of his mind. He feared asking it. He hated that he did. When his pride got the better of him and he swallowed the feeling of unease, his dark ears drew forward before he asked…

What if they destroy it?

It had been a small thing, after all. If this woman had any sense left in her, she’d abandon the trinket and flee into the shadows. Leave it somewhere that Lestan would find it without tormenting himself further. Either that or cast it into the sea. He did not think there was a better outcome.

"then i'll kill them." a muscle jumped high on his cheek, beneath his eye; the tic shuddered for a second and then passed.
the bleak expression spread toward shardik, almost wondering why the other continued to question.  
lest the wonder become suspicion, lestan fell into deliberate silence and refused to answer any other inquiries until they had come to the center of the marsh, where lestan turned slowly in a circle as he tasted the air, as if trying to choose another direction.

Then I’ll kill them.

Swordfish’s jaw tightened and his narrow features became taut. Only a slight cant of his head suggested that he had taken the vow for more than it seemed. The answer did not ease the bear-hunter’s mind. It did silence his questions for a time while they journeyed deeper into the marsh.

When Lestan stopped, checking the air and circling, Swordfish watched. He waited. He did not feel that he could say anything that would sway the madman from his goal. Whoever the old woman and the boy were, they were marked with the Mayfair’s vengeance. If they did not keep moving, keep distance between them and the amulet’s rightful owner…

Then I’ll kill them.

Swordfish too sniffed at the winds, hoping for a stray scent to give them direction.