Ouroboros Spine xii. it's spiraling down

Lótë froze, experiencing a horrible rush of déjà vu as her flesh pimpled and her fur spiked with fear -- the acrid tang of it perfuming the damp air surrounding the herbologist. She imagined she could feel his eyes roaming over her, devouring her. 

She blinked the memory away, returning to the present as she turned sharply towards the noise -- task abandoned for the moment. Wary jade gemstones scoured the treeline, searching for the silhouette hidden there but he was dark and blended well -- a broken mosaic of a boy, an ankle here and an ear there like a scrambled Picasso. "Hello?" the two-year called out softly, though the word was edged slightly -- sharp with her nervousness at being spied on.