Blackfeather Woods far away across the field

It was one of the more eventful days in Maegi's young life. So excited she was to see old and new faces that she could not sleep; instead, she wandered through the woods, looking for herbs. She had done a fair job at replenishing her sorely-neglected caches, but there still was a long way to go. And if Damien was looking for trouble. . .

They had to be prepared. Always.

Marigold. She'd seen it used by Hemlock before, on the island. Good for wounds and sores. She'd learned a lot from Hemlock and Reed, and she felt a pang to think of them now. Where were they—still on Undersea, or had they moved on, too? The latter she missed especially. Reed had been one of her very first friends in life, at least of those her age.

She found herself staring at the dark golden clump for a long time, lost in memories, before Maegi finally came to herself again with a small shudder. Stooping, she gently plucked the bunch from the earth, roots dangling, shivering, sending a small shower of earth in their wake. Clutching the bundle carefully, she began to pad to her nearest cache.

She could almost taste the blood upon application—should one of them fall to the enemy, soon.

Peryite, protect us, she whispered fervently, words muffled against the flowers.

he followed the girl at length, gaze resting on the plants in her muzzle. marigold; a healing herb. but he had seen the caches and knew that his gift would not go unwanted. he moves like a shadow and pulls alongside her, in front of her, until he breaks his cover and moves to stand in her path, falling motionless when perhaps ten meters space exists between them and he directly in her course. abraxas has spent much of the morn gathering his offering to her, dipping into his own caches, placed where none of the woods denzien's could find nor access them. his most treasured, he'd place out of reach of any canine. but those were out of mind now, as he waited to see how his sudden prescence may be recieved.

Before she could even comprehend it, the shadow appeared before her, in front of her, in her path. Maegi pulled up short, eyes widening at first and then narrowing again; her jaw, gone slightly slack, loosed the marigold, and it tumbled to rest at her paws. She closed it again, gritting her teeth and fixing the man with a steely glare.

Who are you? Maegi demanded, brows drawing together. What are the woods to you? I've seen you twice, now, and know nothing about you.

A literal shadow, he was. Was he even real? The night made it even more eerie; she sometimes had trouble telling dreams from reality when the moon rose. Yet she and Ramsay both had seen him the other day, so. . .

demands, questions. but no violence, and his stare remained even, his contenance empty. he was still a moment longer, and when she failed to turn to physical aggression, he dipped his muzzle. the motion was smooth, perfect, an invitation to follow. and then he was moving, remaining glue to the open trails and always within sight, though his nature drew him so strongly to the patches of shadow and cover. the distance was short; he'd planned this, after all, as his offering was placed carefully at the base of a towering oak, oppressive and dark. he drew back and sat on the opposite side of the pile that lay there, gaze finding the girl once more. there lay three piles of herbs, all volatile in their effects. first oleander, stacked neatly, then dumb cane, and the skeletal one's favourite, jimson weed. atop them all lay a raven's feather, glossy and neatly preened. he is utterly still and even his steady breaths manage barely to shift his chest. he waits.

To her utmost ire, he didn't answer, instead moving away like—like Astara. Yes, he reminded her a lot of the silent girl, but she had no choice, driven by curiosity, but to follow. She crept up to the bundle by the tree, her frown morphing into yet another look of surprise as she spotted deadly pink first, then two plants she wasn't familiar with.

And a raven's feather. Euron's face appeared before her, suddenly, soon blurred by tears. She blinked them away, sucking in a deep breath before turning to the man.

This is poison, Maegi murmured, dipping her muzzle at the oleander, which she knew only by a sobriquet. She glanced to the other bundles. Are these poison, too? What do they do? I have never come across them before; I don't know their effects.

Why was he showing her these? Was he like Cicero—did he dabble in toxins? It endeared her to him, if so, even if she still was piqued at his lack of conversation.

she has more question, but there is no backbone of anger to thoses ones. he listens, and dips his head a fraction, once, and then his muzzle lowered once to rest near the center of the three piles - the dumb cane. he was still a long moment, and his throat shifted, as if the word there inched toward his muzzle slowly, painfully. " Faaz"  the word is gutteral, low, and sounds more like the creaking of an acient tree trunk than daedric. it is the first time the boy has spoken since his return, and at this he falls silent once more. then, the jimson weed. this one, he touches, shearing a fragment of one of the leaves with a quick bite. poised, he holds it betwixt his fangs, and then it disappears down his throat. he is not an addict like the patchwork man, but the hallucinations that come show him things that only aid him, in the end. he withdraws, watching, judging the girl's next move. this is every bit a test as it is a gift.

Her ears canted far forward to catch the sound of the one word, one she didn't know terribly well. . .but from context clues, based on prayers she had heard, she could figure it out. Pain. She nodded, and then he moved to the other unknown bundle—and tore a tiny piece off and ingested it, just as she was accustomed to doing with unknown plants. None of the gobbling that had come with Astara's ill-fated introduction to deadly pink.

She moved forward, slowly, as if stalking prey, and snaked her muzzle out to take a small part of the leaf as well. It was bitter on her tongue; she was sure she made a face before swallowing it, feeling all of a sudden a lack of saliva. It was only temporary, because it pooled back up again, and she swallowed again,

and she swallowed again. The muscles in her throat moved compulsively—her gorge came up, as if to rid her body of the toxin. But Maegi held it down, staring at the dark man. Did you know Cicero? she asked him quietly, waiting for the plant to seize her body, her mind. My father.

there is no change in his contenance, but his judgement is sustained. she asks more questions, but offers too more information, the later which he seizes and places something amidst his hoard of knowledge, to be analyzed later. he's still a moment, and then he moves his head down to touch the jimson weed again, holding his muzzle there a long moment before withdrawing. his eyelids move slowly, almost robotically over his eyeballs, as if blinking is something he has to remember to do.

Gods, why wouldn't he answer anything she asked? He was a complete enigma, and he was here inside her home, which disturbed her on several levels. She opened her mouth to launch another volley of questions his way when something out of the corner of her vision stopped her; she turned to look—

Cicero. No. Two Ciceros. No. One was smaller. Cicero—

Cicero on the left, and Euron on the right. Yes. No? Euron on the left? Euron on the left. Euron on the left
and
Miraak on the
right—no! Where had Cicero gone?

A pale-gazed raven fluttered right beside her left cheek, and she stumbled back with a gasp, only to find empty air before her, her sole companion the strange, silent man. And the trees.

They were bleeding.

he watches as the drug takes hold. it easy to see the way she gasps at empty air, stares at things he can not see, and the way in which the trees begin to drip. only then does he speak his name, low and sure.  "abraxas." she is lucky; the only audience to which he has spoken in months. or, perhaps, she would have been better off if he hadn't chosen her as later the raven's had. there is a shadow that rears its head above the girl, its fangs are for him. he will be alone when it bites. with that, the man turns smoothly and vanishes into the shadows and the Web, leaving only his gift and his name.

He spoke his name and it had the effect of an echo chamber—one gruff whisper into a thousand smaller ones. Abraxasabraxasabraxasabraxasabraxasabraxasabraxas

And then he was leaving suddenly, gone as soon as he'd arrived. Maegi would have gone after him, were it not for the spirits that lingered just beyond her vision. Her mouth opened to stop him, and remained there; no sound came from it. He left her to her own inner turmoil, the chaos the jimson weed had borne.

She seized, at intervals. She saw the Void and stared back. And when she finally fell asleep, and woke a few fitful hours later, she understood the dark man a little bit more. Not much—but any improvement from zero is notable.