Blackfeather Woods and then one day you find ten years have got behind you

420 posts blaze it Maegi. j/k this is a serious post

She couldn't stop. It was some sort of sickness, some sort of disease. Something more insidious than the unnatural twist of her paw. She couldn't stop.

Never again would she take so many poppies that Reed and her mother would have to come rescue her; no, she knew her limits now. Five or six, that seemed right. Enough to dull everything, round the sharp edges of pain and regret, anger, frustration. Enough to make everything feel fine, when in reality it was far from fine.

The woods had brought to life once more every bad memory that lingered in the back of her mind. Miraak's death. Her abandonment of her brothers. Potema's wrath. She loved this place so much, but it had brought her so much sorrow. And would only continue to do so--such was life.

One poppy, then two, three,

four

five. . .

. . .six. . .

A big cloak fell over her world, calm and dark. Everything moved slower. Her heart steadied. Her mind calmed. She walked in silence through the woods, stumbling slightly over roots, the outlines of trees blurred. Her eyes glazed, a slack-jawed expression painting her face.

She was dead to the world. But it was better than being alive.

He found her hidden away and nibbling on something, and when he crept closer he found an exposed medicine cache that smelled intensely herbal; it was a scent he knew well and at times, one he sought out. This time though, Mou was looking for Maegi and when he found her, she had eaten most of the poppies. He came up beside her just as she ingested the last one and, unable to help himself, let out an airy whine. Mou worried about her; he remembered the last time she took too many poppies and it had been a terrifying moment—an enlightening one as well, but primarily he recalled feeling powerless and afraid.

Perhaps the best thing he could do was be present. She began to trail her way through the woods, and so Mou kept himself close. He was a ghost among the trees, and it was easy enough to slink along. In her current state Maegi wouldn't be going very fast. But he hung back, drifting closer to a smaller cache a few feet along the trail, and was suddenly conflicted. He wanted to be an anchor for her in this moment but the draw of the medicinal cache was almost too hard to ignore.

"Mou," she breathed, turning to him, seeking the warmth of his pelt in the dim light. Any guilt that might have been at his discovery of her indulgence was hidden away, buried in her stupor. The voices in her head were silenced; she had no use for anything but the physical, now. He was a solid presence beside her, and she stopped to press herself against him, anchored for now.

She caught his gaze toward the cache, and looked up at him, a sort of dance in her eyes. "Do you want some?" she whispered, almost teasingly. She slipped by him, a pale snake, padding toward the cache. She ought not to, she really shouldn't. . .

But who was she to deny his base desires?

The drawl of her voice introduced Mou to a strange new sensation; it wasn't new to the body he inhabited, but to the reborn creature that he was, the fluttering of his chest and the subsequent warmth spreading through his chest was a little overwhelming.

She moved to find him some poppy. He heard the question but couldn't form an answer even if he'd wanted to. His eyes said yes — but they were looking at her, fixated, rather than the cache he had previously been trying to ignore. Every touch she granted him brought about the same feeling in his skin. A spreading warmth.

Then again, it had been snowing off and on for a few hours; maybe he just felt cold, and relished the attention she blessed him with.

Looking over her shoulder, she stared at his one remaining eye, trying to read the emotions there. She held his gaze for a long moment, then turned, pressing her nose gently into the cache. Slowly. . .slowly. . .and she had a seed balanced on the end of her muzzle, barely discernible against the black of her nose. Maegi lifted her head up and out of the cache, turning with steady, deliberate steps to face Mou again.

One hobbling step, then two, three-- She lost her balance, the world spinning around her, and her head lurched forward; the seed tumbled to the ground. Giggling slightly, Maegi bent to retrieve it, sticking her tongue out to adhere it there.

With tongue held straight out of her mouth--she looked daft--she walked forward, quicker now, grinning widely (she had no choice, as her maw was open). She extended her tongue a bit further, eyes glittering with silent humor, her shoulders shaking with the laughter she was holding back. Everything was so. . .funny. In a strange way. Like someone holding your head underwater and simultaneously telling you the best joke you'd ever heard.

"Take it, or I will," Maegi mumbled, her speech coming out almost as garbled as his was when he'd first began to speak.

The expression on his face wasn't new, except it was to Mou. It was the look that overtook Screech when he had found himself quarrelling with Sorina; the look that affected him mere seconds before taking things too far with Raven. If it had been Screech who saw this pale wraith of a girl with her mind distracted and body poised perfectly before him, things might've ended differently — badly for Maegi, anyways. But this was Mou now; a boy reborn in shadow, a broken fragment of a thing that was intoxicated by the girl before him and would never wish her harm. He wanted something, but it wasn't something that Mou could recognize.

Then, she turned around. The seed stuck upon her tongue, and a goading tone slurred around that. He liked the sound of her laughter; it wasn't a familiar thing to his ears, but the doped-up glee made him smile.

Mou stepped closer and with some tenderness, flicked his tongue out to touch her's. The seed transfered, and he swallowed quickly, as if the thing would sprout on his tongue if he wasn't careful.

Her stomach felt funny when his tongue touched hers, a sort of flutter deep in the pit. It was nice, and she wanted him to do it again--but how did one go about asking that? She supposed she could go get another seed, but she was high enough as it was, and she didn't want to drag him down into the depths. Reckless as she was with her own health, she had dreamed several times of Mou succumbing to poppy slumber--as she had once almost done--and had woke in a fright, trembling.

Instead, Maegi sank to the leaf-carpeted ground, hoping to entice him down with her. Her eyes were wide and guileless, pupils huge, lips parted slightly. If she squinted, she could see him with two eyes, without the ragged scar along his throat. He must have been handsome, once. . .

. . .and then she felt ashamed for it. She looked away, completely embarrassed. He was handsome now, just as he was; he was her Mou, and every inch was perfect. How dare she think otherwise? Lest he judge her for the ruin of her face, her paw, her. . .her lineage. . .

"I have to tell you something," Maegi whispered, meeting his gaze with a fearful stare of her own.

He could feel the seed in the back of his throat, as if it didn't want to budge and was resisting the inevitable fall. He felt it slide down his throat. It would take some time for the poppy to take effect and while he waited, he watched Maegi. Mou's evident hunger (or whatever it was that urged him to be close with her) did not fade, but the expression of wanting slipped away. The crunch of the leaves told him that she was laying down, and he closed whatever gap was between them in order to do the same. He reached with his forelimbs as if to hug her, scooting close, criss-crossing their limbs. 

I have to tell you something, she admitted.

All he could do was watch her, and listen. His head began to tilt slightly as the medicine took effect, slowly numbing his sense of touch. Mou took a deep breath and as he exhaled, he felt himself begin to sink in to a blissful high.

This felt good, too, to have him curled up with her. Maegi stared at him for a long moment, at a loss for words. Finally, she looked down, swallowing. Everything was so pleasurably numb that the pain behind her voice wasn't there; it came out at once both flat and hollow, completely lifeless.

"My mother wanted me dead," she whispered, breath stirring up the dust. Little motes rose and fell, twinkling slightly in the dim light. "I wasn't supposed to be born--my father was her brother; it was wrong. She hated me. And I hated her, too."

Maegi stretched into him, pressing her head into the curve of his neck. She felt his pulse against her temple, gentle and steady. Slow. "When we were pups, all she did was lay around, in a daze. She had poppies, like us," she explained, words growing longer, more slurred. "All day, in a daze. She didn't want her children, and we barely needed her.

"It's weird, Mou," she sighed. "I hate her more than almost anyone--but I want to be like her, too. She was a great priestess, great with plants. And here I am, high on poppies, good with plants, praying to the gods." She pulled back to stare into his eye, a bemused smile blooming over her face. "I'm her. I've turned into her. Why?"

phone post!

He didn't know what was coming but when she started to explain what was on her mind, Mou was there to listen. He couldn't do much besides sit there and offer the comfort of his presence as Maegi spoke of her mother; her feelings, her secrets. Learning that she was the product of an unholy union did not appear to phase him in any way - to Mou, these might have been facets to a terrible story but for Maegi it was history, life, and a part of her. Nothing could lead Mou to reject his friend. So he was present, offering his attention and affection once she had concluded.

The question was met with the same silence, mostly because he couldn't find words or ability to reply, also because he felt like anything he tried to speak would be the wrong answer. He sighed softly in to her fur, and then drew back so she could read his face as he mouthed, "Maybe... She could not handle it. Being a mother. Cannot be easy. And... especially if your dad was... you know, your uncle." No judgement. "You are not her. You are not struggling here."

Gods, she knew he was speaking truth and logic, but she looked away then, suddenly angry. Angry that he was defending Potema, the woman who'd wanted her dead. All three of them, dead. Perhaps she could forgive her mother for hating her, but she could never absolve her sins of despising Ramsay and Euron. Her brothers, so perfect. . . She loved them more than anything, and always would.

"We needed her," Maegi choked out, completely contradicting what she had said before. "I--I needed her. The older I get, the more I realize how much I wanted her to love me. . .and I hate myself for it." Tears tracked down her cheeks, the emotions stifled by the poppies for so long finally coming to the surface. She sniffled and buried her face in his neck, shoulders shaking in quiet sobs.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled a few minutes later, voice muffled in Mou's pelt. He smelled nice, both of the woods and his own unique scent (she swore she could still find a hint of sea salt, though it was probably her imagination running wild). "It's been so weird coming back. Nothing is the same. So many are gone. My brothers. . ."

Her head rolled back, and she stared at him with reddened, hazy eyes, gaze wandering lazily over the lines of his face. "I'm glad you're here," Maegi slurred, smiling sadly.

He knows before he's finished mouthing those words that he's struck a nerve, and when Maegi turns away he sees the exposed emotion upon her face. It turns his stomach. He wants to apologize but he can't, not easily, and so he lets a level of shame wash over himself until she speaks again. He listens until she's so broken up over things that she buries herself in to his fur, and Mou cannot help but feel glad for their closeness; he feels guilty for that, knowing he's somehow benefitting from her emotional distress, but he holds her close and waits for her to experience everything as it naturally occurs.

When she starts to apologize, then he's interjecting with a shake of his head, short bursts so that he doesn't disturb their proximity. The warmth spreading between them is a refreshing change from the dampness of the moor and the chill of the October shadows. I'm glad you're here, she slurs. He takes a deep breath but doesn't respond, only presses his cheek against her and hums a happy sound.

He wants to say so many things, reassure her, help her through whatever she's going through, but it's harder for him. Mou can't remember his family and he can't identify with the situation of a loveless mother, and he doesn't want to say the wrong thing again.

He was sweet. Quiet and sweet. Sometimes, Maegi pondered the nature of their relationship. Was it too unbalanced? Was she too overbearing, he too submissive? By refusing to take his opinion, here, had she further opened a gap between them? She worried over it, and her mouth wobbled in a shaky frown, this time anxious and not angry.

"Sorry for getting mad at you," she continued, then laughed softly. "I'm kinda bad at listening and taking advice." When had she ever taken criticism without feeling hurt or scorn? Even from her most trusted of allies, words stung. And she didn't know how to fix it.

Was this inherited from Potema, or Cicero, instead? Or was it something new entirely, or passed down from an ancestor she'd never met?

She was getting sleepy, and she stifled a yawn, feeling everything slow down even further. Maegi curled closer to him, tucking her head under his chin again. At least when neither of them were speaking, it felt even. It felt safe.

Her apology was met with a sigh and a nudge from his nose; no, don't apologize, it's okay, it's okay. All that mattered was that she trusted him enough to tell him these things. And if that helped, it helped. But they devolved to their usual silence together and Maegi kept him close, tucking in against him so that their white furs became one mess of whiteness in the shadows; they were a two-headed, three-eyed beast. If she fell asleep there then he would protect her; but he would not let himself drift to sleep so easily. Mou stared at the shifting shadows around them and idly flicked his ears forwards, as if listening to an invisible voice.