Blackfeather Woods i'm so lost thinking our love was a lie

despite that the sun of the mid-morning was rotund in the sky when miktrull shrugs into the dark woods; it is a stark contrast. the temperature drops, cooler.

the trees whisper secrets to the phantom that weaves thru them; half repressing the urge to shudder. even after all these years, rabe remains unfound ... and the dark, the witching hours in the darkest throes of night still haunt him.

the searing heat of the flames that marred his flesh on the left side of his body is felt as if it were still happening, the stench of his own burning flesh —

the screaming yelp that sounds like a tortured hellhound ... that came from his own throat; the scorch of heat and hot ash that scarred his vocal chords ... that had almost killed him.

miktrull lives it every night.

instinct tells him to flee this place; but he has survived three winters after the burning and it was long since time he trained himself to cease being afraid of the dark.

so, despite the fear resisting every step he takes, miktrull pushes on: towards the heart of blackfeather forest, unsure of what he will find waiting for him there.

She knew that Glaukos was no longer within the canyon, and yet she could not help but wander toward it again, hope in her spirit that he might resurface. Each night, she sat facing her shrine, willing him to come to her. What had become of him? And why did her heart not release him as it had others? This was how she found herself away from the spear today, the familiar form of the black bird overhead—searching.

Though they had met once before, Sialuk did not recognize him from their fleeting interaction. His left side told more about him than anything he could have spoken when she neared, and she greeted him simply. This woman greets you, she said, another stolen glance at the tranished skin along his side.

this woman greets you,

miktrull turns towards her at the sound of her greeting, lifting above the malicious whisper of the unquiet woods, the crackle and hissing pop of fire that lingers always in the moments of these ... memories.

geist draws in a breath; she is an apparition of moonlight; a small light in this otherwise gloomy place.

hu — to speak, even after all these years is hard. it requires more effort than he would like to admit. the vibrations, the push of air up his vocal chords to form sounds is ... painful. strained.

hello.

a single word, but still an accomplishment.

He greeted her with a word of the language of this land. A simple greeting, but she did not feel ill will laced within it. I seek a man, she said, Large, dark, silvery undertones. The starwoman did not expect to find the shadowed spirit on her first outreach, but she knew she must start somewhere.

Again, she noted the disfigured coat along the man's left side. The scar appeared older, yet not without pain. Sialuk had never seen a thing like it, and the medicinal side of her was curious of its origin. For now, she refrained, wishing first to see if this man knew of Glaukos.

she seeks a man, she says.

though his common has somewhat improved since his first foray into these wilds so many years ago, still he struggles.

or perhaps, the beast of the netherworld thinks, it is his lack of wanting to speak that holds back progress.

no man. miktrull breaks the news to her in a brutish butchering of common; not meaning to sound so blunt. in fact, he winces slightly, offering a small cringe in apology.

ah — the noise is almost a strangled, pained thing. a want to not sound so ... caveman-ish; but also unsure of how to translate properly.

He spoke small words, and Sialuk stepped forward to hear them better. She glanced again at the wound on his side. The fur was patchy, and the starwoman realized she had seen it before in her travels. A horrid tale where the patient had not survived. She felt a great sorrow in her heart for what he must have been through. Sialuk recalled how they had treated another patient who had survived, rubbing fat on his naked skin so that it might soften and stretch.

Does it pain you? she asked, unable to reel in her urge to help him.

Glaukos would not be found here, but quickly she found another purpose. The spirits of her ancestors always guiding her to where she was needed.

her question reaches miktrull's ears, drawing him from the greedy fingers of memory. of trauma; always on the cusp of tugging him into it's milky, shadowy depths.

ja, comes his response; a crooned, sound.

to admit it felt like some sort of cardinal sin.

but it always pains him in some way or another. by limitation of movement, or the phantom pain of the hungry, devouring flames.

but the healers had done all they could, he believed; at least for the outside. they'd been rather helpless for the internal injuries and had resolutely decided that lay strictly in the hands of fate.

it would either heal, or it wouldn't.

vocal chords had healed: eating had become easier with time, and breathing. but speaking, growling ... they still sounded like they came from a wounded animal; dealt with, but not necessarily easier.

As she suspected, it pained him. Sialuk felt herself drawn to him, no matter how marred he may be on the inside (and out). I am called Sialuk. I am head of village Moonspear. A healer of body and spirit. Whether the healer was herself or the mountain itself was up to interpretation. She did not step forward yet, instead remaining a distance from him. What name does this pained man have? she asked.