Blackfeather Woods Insight III

Backdated to a fuzzy early-mid January 2020

I know I said I was going to get this up two days ago. Lawl.
@Rowan @Minnow @Takiyok

There was something strangely comforting about the fever dreams. Things melted. They were disgusting. The heat pulled in strange visions of beforetimes and the world beyond this. No doubt Takiyok had noticed him mumbling, flailing, kicking, even shouting in the poor excuse for slumber that had taken hold for weeks.
The strangeness, though foul and cruel to him, was a reminder that he was still alive. That, if nothing else, was enough for Taikon to feel thankful in the rare moments of lucidity that he was capable of such feelings. Gone was his wisdom. Gone were his ideologies and his concerns about Zephyr the boy leader. He was a shell of himself, rapt with anguish and pus and a glaring stink that called to death herself in the night. No longer was there comfort he could offer to Takiyok that he would be okay. He was not okay.
Somewhere within, the loving and ever present white knight lay dormant. Somewhere within, he found vague awareness of food placed in front of him, and would take it.
It was not clear whether or not he would recover, nor whether he would remain himself. Who was himself?

He reached out in the blackness, finding no peace, no solace, for his prior sins.