The Heartwood eye for an eye, heart for a heart

She seemed to melt in to the snow before him. Was that a trick of the light, or was he already dreaming? Perhaps time had slipped away from him because he had fallen in to a stupor. Like Rip Van Winkle, he would wake one-thousand years from now and find himself stranded.

He didn't know where the figure went, exactly, but as Mojag approached her last sighted spot, he tried to be courteous, and careful, and as welcoming as always. There was not an ounce of aggression to the man. Smiling softly, he looked to and 'fro, only at the last moment did the starlight catch in golden eyes.

Hello there, his voice rumbled, and he sank back a step to give the stranger more space. I'm sorry—it is so late, I must be disturbing your sleep. His ears flit back with apology, and while Mojag knew he should pull himself away, he found himself stuck.

Something had indeed lured him this far, and now it seemed to anchor him. Of all the plants he had collected in his travels he could not think of a single one which held such a powerful affect; but then, his mind was drawing a complete blank in other regards as well.