Blackfeather Woods breathe, just breathe

"Wow," she breathed, dreamily taking in Cicero's words. She was still so intoxicated that every other one only made half-sense, but she got the general sentiment by watching his face, anyway. Her small head craned back to the tree; she felt drawn to it, despite the calamity it brought upon her senses, and wanted to defy Cicero and return.

"How do you know what's poisonous and what's not?" she asked, looking back at her uncle as she abandoned the plan to flee. He would catch her up swiftly, in any case. "Besides eating it, or getting too close?"

Maegi couldn't imagine trying to figure this all out by trial and error. That would mean many days, many nights, of dealing with this stupor, fighting through this haze. Though it was a novel feeling, she didn't think she would like it all the time. Perhaps it would take a learned wolf like Cicero to teach her, sparing her young body and mind from the quasi-torment.