Blackwater Islands It all falls into the sea.

As the remnants of the storm dissipated, the man awoke again.
He had not slept through the entirety of the chaos; but when he had woken it was to howl and to shout in a way that rivaled the gale, making little sense with his sounds, a messy dance of writhing as he fought against his caretakers.
Someone had slipped him something to put him to sleep; it was familiar enough that it could have been poppy, and at such a dose that he lost himself for a time. They were not to know this castaway had a high tolerance to such things.
But yes, awake now — cotton-mouthed, black-eyed,
So, so, terribly lost.

There were a lot of other new arrivals here who Bridget hadn't met. She didn't know the circumstances but she occasionally heard them. One in particular had been loud at times.

She didn't move well yet. Her missing leg hurt like hell and her other legs weren't strong enough yet to compensate. Bridget was too stubborn not to attempt it, though, and curiosity brought her lurching to the place where another wolf stayed.

They'd promised to go to Brecheliant for her, so maybe, in the meantime, she could offer some help. The air smelled stale and somewhat sick, just as she'd suspected. Healthy wolves didn't tend to cry out like that. She let out a low greeting, then waited to see if she'd get an acknowledgement before entering.

For some reason this thread is giving me Saw vibes, probably because of poor Bridget and her leg. :( RIP Bridget's leg 2022.

There was a sound from somewhere, not that he would know it. His body was present but his mind was somewhere else.

Somewhere that the dark had teeth.

His single eye was open and glazed over. To anyone who got close enough he looked utterly dead; except his ribs did move from time to time, and between each breath came long stretches of nothingness, as the autonomic function of his drugged body was delayed.

A spasm rocked him sometimes. A strangled sound as air was snorted in to his nose. The soul returning, maybe.

No, he had no idea that there was company.

When there was no answer, she decided to toss caution aside and enter regardless. What she found was a wolf who, despite lack of serious apparent injury, seemed to be on death's door.

The medic took in his state in a cursory, practiced glance. There were a few things that could be factors; illness, hunger, thirst. One of these was more dangerous than the others and she figured she could at least do that much. Casting around in the vicinity, she found what she was looking for fairly quickly; a semi-large shell. The beach had some useful things. She'd have to grab something like this to take with her if she ever managed to leave this place.

It took her a few attempts to fill it and keep a portion of the water long enough to fetch it back, but eventually she got the hang of it.

If she was overstepping, she didn't care. No medic could, in good conscience, leave another wolf to suffer like this.

She did her best to gently tip his head, wondering if this would wake him. If it didn't then she would work to pour the water into his muzzle herself, stroking the throat to discourage choking. The faeries had not been strangers to poppies and she knew the dangers of treating a wolf who was lost to it. She'd nursed a few back to health.

The feeling of water across his tongue. The roiling sea came to mind; the fall forgotten, only the waking and the struggle — the shadow — !

He would have choked had the caretaker not been so cautious. Still, he sputtered to life; a tin man given vital oil. Lucidity did not enter his gaze but he managed to fixate that one eye ominously upon the golden shape beside him.

She watched him cough and took it as a good sign, though she did rock back a bit cautiously. Sometimes wolves could see someone trying to help as a threat if they were not aware of their surroundings and this wolf, whoever he was, didn't seem to be present in the now.

Still, it couldn't hurt to talk. Wait here. She would make a couple more trips, refilling it and bringing it back to deliver him more water, before she had to take a break herself. Holy shit, moving anywhere was hard fucking work like this. It felt good to be helping and in the role she was familiar with, but it was a little disheartening how quickly and frequently she had to stop.

Each time she came back she delivered the water and helped him to drink it however much was necessary. If he seemed to swallow it fine on his own, she let him. If he choked she would do the same thing she had on the first attempt, coaxing the muscles to do as they should.

Then she set the shell down and sat down herself, catching her breath while she watched him. She had never met Mou when he lived with the Redhawks, so he was entirely unfamiliar to her. Had he been there before she had or was he new as well, another stray they'd picked up? They really were healers, weren't they?

The thought warmed her up a bit more to this place, watching him breathe. They'd fixed her leg and apparently took in others as well. Maybe she could learn a thing or two here.

The dawn came and went, came and went, each time bringing rain that poured in to his mouth, that pulsed the dry riverbed of his throat.

This final time he was able to look at her with focus, and squinted against the golden light that rolled from her face.

Somewhere in his mind the ghost knew this was wrong; the dawn could not have a face, it was not alive. That place which knew the world was far away now.

It was better than the shadows — perhaps that was why he stared. When had the light ever chosen him?

He was staring at her pretty intently, but she just stared back. Not meeting his eyes, per say, moreso observing him. He was thin, rough, and did have some signs of wear. Someone had treated those, but she couldn't tell with what.

He seemed to be breathing easier. And he looked at her rather than through her, though something in that look was still wrong.

Sometimes it still feels like a dream, this place. She said conversationally. Like I'll wake up in Brech and go meet Teya for a swim, business as usual. But I guess if this is a dream, it's a nightmare for you too. She snorted a laugh, but it wasn't bitter. Maybe nightmare was a bit of an overstatement. As much as she hated her newfound state, it was hard to dwell when the alternative had been death.

Maybe this here is my round two. He obviously couldn't respond, but she was a bit starved for conversation after so long with only the Listener (and occasionally the Speaker) for company. This group wasn't the chattiest.

Besides... sometimes conversation helped. Her mentor had taught her that.

Her voice was pure light; he knew the words as they came from her as gospel, and would have reciprocated some form of conversation if he could.

The poppies dulled the physical sensations of his body and contorted an already fragile psyche in to knots; but as she spoke, pieces were tugged free. Frayed ends tucked neatly together. It was not enough but it was a start.

She spoke of dreams and of nightmares, and the ghost reacted with a pitiful wheeze. She laughed and her voice became beads of sea glass against ice. He reached out to touch the sunlight of her face (or thought he did) and a shaking leg kicked out instead.

He was reacting, but in a restless and somewhat spasmodic way. His breath whined in a way that immediately tugged at the caretaker and, as he kicked out, she instinctually shushed him soothingly.

Hey. It's alright. You look like you need the rest. She kept her voice calm and decided to risk proximity. He could probably use the warmth too and maybe it would help, having breathing aside from his own to match.

Having someone else need her, having a job to do, it was the most normal she'd felt since she'd been lost from Brecheliant. Everything from that point on had been chaos and fever dreams, and the focus she felt now was altering. She'd always loved her work, never doubted it, but sometimes it was easy to lose sight of it when times were quiet. Brecheliant hadn't needed her services much in the time she'd been there.

He was older than she was, but that didn't stop her from moving in to share her warmth and smoothing the fur of his forehead as though he were a child. She couldn't do this with adult patients unless they were like this; pride disappeared when dreams took them. You should sleep. Low, soothing voice, as she continued the motions.

The Listener had done something similar to her, though she did not recall that right now.

It was like looking through water at a distant sunrise; drowning, but seeking that shine desperately, knowing that to break through the surface meant breath, warmth, life.

His eye blinked slowly. The more he tried to hold on to the tendrils of consciousness the faster they slipped away. . .

The dream came; light bending like a heron's neck, a shadow rushing across the sea like a storm gathering, tendrils become spires become the risen hackles of a beast - an ink black sea stretches endlessly in to oblivion.

Asleep with her warmth tucked close, he no longer trembled. His nightmare shifts endlessly through incongruity, yet he is at peace.

<333

She felt him relax against her and his breathing quiet, slowly, into the gentle rhythm of sleep. She'd stay there for a while, a soothing presence, until either the shadows lengthened or another wolf returned.

She'd come back again. She didn't even fully realize it, but it wasn't entirely unselfish. On days when it was too hard to get up, when she'd rather isolate in her den and give in to the ache of her legs, remembering that someone here might be thirsty or scared would push her forward. She needed to be needed as much as he might need to be cared for, and at least for a few days, they could provide this for each other.

As long as she wasn't turned away, that is. She still wasn't sure she was welcome here, poking her nose in the Druids' business with their charges. She would welcome the help if it were her, and that was the assumption she'd take until proven otherwise.