Herbalists' Cache painted thus he slipped from the canvas

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the place smelt of green things, myrrh brought to a suckling boy. armand had felled a brace of rabbits and dragged them among the sweet fragranced plants to feed. the morning had brought a crackling of frost, and the golden thing knew snow would not be far behind. whether or not he survived it, armand did not care. he snapped bone between his jaws and licked at the rich marrow; he chewed absently at the flesh and lay his muzzle down across the downy skins when he had finished. 
his eyelids fluttered, but armand fought sleep for the present. he finally allowed himself to sketch the proud sculpted muzzle, overlaid with the dark red fur, aureate in sunlight and curved always with a smile. but armand did not let himself think the name -- no. that was not to be done. the boy drifted into a troubled slumber with blood staining his chin and a half-etched vision in his mind. [/tr][/td][/table]

can i set this before tetsubo returns to the coast? that'd work best for me~

He had thought to find the nether again, to ask its advice, for he was without a master and Tetsubo had lost his way. He had made a list — cobbled together with half-remembered faces, moments in his history that were obscured by darkness, and vague recollections — and had tried to seek out those entities as he had searched. The goals that Skellige had granted upon him (of finding more children, of securing the coast, and even the falsehood spread to him by Murgash) had been forgotten by this point; as had his master, unfortunately.

Tetsubo must have come in to contact with someone or something, for as he tread through the snow there came with him a crimson streak that followed. He was a dark figure among the trees at first, his jaws grasping at something by their roots. He spent a handful of moments gnawing, spitting, gnawing, choking, pulling — and with a sickening crackle held carefully within the dark, he pulled something free. It hung awkwardly from his maw at first. He turned and began to carry it back with him through the snow, and came to an abrupt halt when he heard the sounds of chewing.

The boy gave a double-take to the spot he had previously occupied, as if expecting to see a ghostly version of himself waiting there, and then groggily began to survey his surroundings. He had been trying to summon. It was not an easy task, especially for a warrior not trained in the ways of the onmyōji. Tetsubo set down the bloodied mess by his feet, placing one paw across it defensively at first, and then removed it when he realized he had scored one of the eyes with his claws; it was ruined, now. He could not use the head after all.

yes ofc!

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the dream floated there, just beyond his reach, and its evasion of full realization frustrated and pained armand beyond articulation. his brow furrowed, and he gave small moans from his blood-stained mouth, the scent of gore rising slowly with an inexorable power. he choked as it filled his nose, as the blood spurted from his throat — he felt himself beginning to suffocate in the thick incense of lifeblood.
the little catamite came awake, his jaws stretched wide in gasps for air, eyes staring unseeingly. as the moments ticked by, armand returned to himself, and saw he was not dying, and he felt a great shame that he had fought against what he so craved. or perhaps this desire was a lie. his eyes brought to him the sharpening vision of some looming presence, and there it was again, the scent of blood. his gorge rose, but he called all the same "show yourself" into the guttering dark.[/tr][/td][/table]

He came from the shadows when called; his face painted nearly to the brow with fresh blood, coating his throat and chest, his forelimbs, everything was a dazzling bright red. His eyes were tired. Between his bared teeth was the head of a young creature — a fox perhaps? No, it was bigger... A wolf.

As Tetsubo emerged in to the light, he tossed the newly acquired object away as if it were as useful to him as a rotten shank of meat. He stared out at the world beyond his immediate vicinity (which happened to now include a beheaded vagrant), but did not seem to notice the fine-boned stranger; at first he peered right over his head, then right at him, but did not see him, not until a curious dark shape made a dive-bomb attempt towards the severed head.

When the raven landed, it hopped towards the face and began to test the limits of both the skin of the dead wolf, and the patience of the living. Tetsubo noticed the bird — and he returned to himself. He ran his tongue over his lips, curling it across his nose, and then looked back to Armand with a semblance of awareness returned.

hm? the boy grunted, curious as to why the nether would lead him in to the path of yet another living thing, considering how his interaction with the last one had gone.

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armand watched with rapt and horrified eyes as the long pointed muzzle of a wolf became visible, followed swiftly by the bloodied body of a murderer, who threw with callous ease aside some mangled thing. the boy dared not look at it; his lips had parted with anxious panting at the sight of this macabre vision! but the other seemed not to take notice of him. try as he might, armand could not keep from glancing toward the sanguine thing when the raven landed upon it, plucking o'er its ripped flesh with the ease that belongs only to avians.
violently the boy shook his head as the spectre turned toward him. had he summoned this ... thing, what with his constant wishes for death? quite naively had armand believed he would be drowned elegantly in the lovely arms of some water spirit, not torn asunder by
"what are you?" he whispered, scarcely remembering to breathe as he drank in the sight of this reaper.[/tr][/td][/table]

What are you?

It was a question he had heard asked before; it had been shrieked at him at least once in recent memory, but this time the voice was but a whisper, repeating itself while Tetsubo was lost to his bloodlust-inspired fugue state. Perhaps he would be more inclined to answer the disembodied voice this time. He was relaxed. Contented. The scent of blood (the feel of it, the vivacity, everything) had soothed his spirit. He would not remember why he had killed this wolf, perhaps not even that he had done it at all, but Tetsubo would remember the question.

He turned his attention towards the voice. His ears cupped the sound of it, forward-facing and seemingly eager while his eyes were still half-lidded. He breathed a deep inhalation and tasted the sanguine air, and one had to wonder if he saw all the world painted with scarlet or not, as the blood was everywhere. The beast's eyes remained their molten gold, and they stood out like the mythical gaze of ferryman drifting the River Styx — rooting themselves upon the boy's frightened face.

There was no answer for a long time. It felt long, anyway. Tetsubo was coming down off of a high, he was not himself. The nether had come to him again, had filled him up, for he was a vessel made to serve only its purpose; yet here was a boy, alone, afraid, and Tetsubo did not know why. Tetsubo, he drawled in a pleasant tone, a far cry from his usual pathologic calm.

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armand was indeed terrified, and thrilled with the shock of it — the adrenaline warmed his slight body, but now he trembled with a different vision. the world was splashed with blood, and the man too; the other's eyes had flicked toward armand quickly, but the eyes had not come alive, and this unsettled the ganymede further. yet he burned with curiosity and the desire to know what it was had come to pass, to touch the wolf and know he was real beneath the rolling mad grate of his voice and the shrieking of armand's own instincts.
"why have you done this?" the child asked, staring toward the ripped trophy before gazing back into the eyes that only showed as hard pieces of coin glittering in the night. would he do it again?[/tr][/td][/table]

Questions, and more questions. This could not be the will of the nether then; it never drove him towards such talkative subjects. Perhaps something else was guiding him this time? Or maybe this was the darkness, but taking a new - and strange - approach. The body behind him belonged to a vagrant. They had approached him with hope, having detected the scent of the coast upon his own body (faded though it had become), and had been tracking him. Tetsubo was not about to lead this creature back to the depths and his lord Skellige.

The stranger had eventually caught up to him as he trailed his way back towards the coast, and thus made itself a target. Tetsubo was enamored by the thought of defending his lord, for that was his purpose. The pair met. Tetsubo had doubled back and caught the stranger sleeping in the wood, and had intended to speak to them — to question them — but found that they were not alone. The stranger was bundled around a pair of tiny bodies. One small and sickly child, the other strong and hale despite the weather. Tetsubo was reminded of his mission: to bring the children back.

But the stranger woke, and with their intense instinct to defend and protect, took up arms against the warrior. The fight had been quick and simple to Tetsubo; he was skilled, and the caretaker was not. He was healthy from days living upon the coast, and the stranger was desperate. Of course, desperation bred its own strengths — but nothing could surpass Tetsubo when his mind was set.

Thus they had ended their quarrel here, among the trees. The stranger's body a lump of steaming flesh, and his head some meters past. During the entire event Tetsubo had not thought to look for the children. But the boy's question jostled his memory, and his gaze slipped from his juvenile silhouette to the crux between some trees behind him. He broke the stare with the boy to observe the shadows there, to test them with his paw and glean some understanding with those shining, dead eyes of his — but the children were gone. 

The beast snorted, pawed the earth for a moment, and then turned to face the boy — becoming the nether for a minute, where his eyes were the only pinpricks of light. For the children, he muttered ominously. They were not here. He would track them, then, and return to Skellige with praise.

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for the children. surely he had missed something — the boy tentatively began to search for these small bodies. the man shifted, probing at the shadows; he was largely silent, and of course this frightened armand beyond conceivable measure. for he himself was some sort of wretched child, though he did not believe this specter had an interest in his gangly limbs and slim muzzle. and yet he had come to roost beside armand all the same. the ganymede shrunk backward, feeling the bole of a tree rasping along his spine. he was trapped here, trapped until the monster departed or struck.
"they are blessed to have you as a protector," armand whispered in trembling tones, ears folding back against his skull as he sought to ingratiate himself with this hulking, bloodstained creature. such flattery slipped easily from his tongue, for it could perhaps mean the difference between his life remaining intact or ending between the jaws of this man.[/tr][/td][/table]