Firestone Hot Springs [m] Wild Childs, Lookin' Good

No, Machi responded firmly, his tone suddenly quite sober. There are parts I miss... certain people, perhaps. But no, I do not miss it. His gaze shifted toward her, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched her examine the seeds with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

Yes, for now, he conceded, a hint of resignation in his voice. The pain had indeed receded for the moment, but Machiavelli was not naive enough to believe this reprieve would last. The man was all too aware that the quiet in his mind came with a price—a promise of the storm that would return tenfold when the effects wore off.

I’ll bring them back with us, he continued, determination hardening his voice. I can cultivate them, tend to them. They’re not addictive, and I suspect they’re safe, as long as the doses are small. Perhaps... perhaps they could even help others. He rolled the seeds thoughtfully in his palm, the faint clicking sound filling the space between them. Whether he was trying to convince Legend or himself was unclear.

His luminous eyes watched the jackdaw closely, observing her reaching for the seeds. Even now, in his elevated state, Machi instinctively lowered his paw, pulling it back from her face, away from her grasp. I don’t know what effects they might have once they wear off, he said softly, though his voice carried a note of warning as his gaze locked with hers. What’s safe for me might not be for you, my love.