fire burned in his eyes, the memory of the one he had met amongst the rocks, and taltos played with the vision of her haunting face as he slid into the thick darkness of the woodland. hunger gnawed his belly, but the man was numb to it; indeed, he was numb to all things, save for the singular pursuit of companionship, of the witch. it was some dark curse that had befallen him, that never would he be content with the stillness roundabout unless bordered on all sides by the witch's power, the witch's love.
lasher paused alongside a small stream in the heart of darkness, nostrils flaring at the scent of water even as he lowered his muzzle to drink. murky eyes scanned the surrounding foliage, and taltos settled himself on the bank there, to sleep, to dream. he did not know, for he did not place surety or emphasis on the knowledge of what his body craved; he merely drifted in pursuit of whatever desire it demanded. the rising moon found him in fitful slumber beside the singing water.