Blackwater Islands was hypnotized by a strange delight

Māzigon, Jaes, māzigon.

"Not going to happen."

Māzigon, Jaes, māzigon.

"Forget about it, Maegi."

Māzigon, Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jae—

"Jaes isn't coming, Maegi—"

Māzigon, Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jaes, māzigon. . .

---

And on it went, the push-pull of madness and sanity; of anarchy and faith; of what once was and what now remained.

Maegi's lips never stopped, chanting that mantra that had brought her so much solace, trying desperately to block out Sheogorath.

Shouting did not work; he would only shout back.

Whispering was better, but his voice still cut above the gentle susurrus.

Her voice had grown so hoarse that the words barely registered above a monotonous croak, but her lips still formed the sounds; Jaes would hear her. He would hear her. . .

And on it went, for a day, and a night.

A day, and a night.

And what was day? And what was night?

She dreamed of drowning, and welcomed the water into her lungs.

His fever broke sometime in the pre-dawn hours. The man slept soundly through the afternoon, in to the early evening, and woke to the sound of a voice carrying through the cave.

Māzigon, Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jae—

Nobody was around him. He smelled others that had been: Bridget, the Listener, Morgana, maybe others; he could not pick apart any single person that he knew, and even if he could, the poppies and medicines given to him were still quite strong inside his body.

He lurched upright, then to his feet. Haunches swayed and threatened to buckle beneath the uneasy weight of his carcass-like body.

Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jaes, māzigon; māzigon, Jaes, māzig—

After hobbling to the doorway to his particular sickroom, he sagged, then dragged his heels and followed the wall.

Mmm... mazi, he rasped, repeating what he'd overheard; it echoed down the passageway.

The echo brought her to life, like a bucket of ice water to the face in the midst of a deep sleep. She sat upright, bristling. Settled, as she recognized those tones.

Mou, she called out, limping toward the entrance of her little cave. Mou. . .

He hugged the wall, slumping against the dark mass. Oh, Mou. . .

She rushed toward him, pressing her body close to his. What've they done to you? she whispered. What the hell is this place? 

Pressed her muzzle into his ruff and inhaled his scent; it was mixed with so many foreign scents, but still him, still him!

We've got to get out of here, Maegi breathed.

He did not get far before there was a rush, then a warmth, and words, so many words — no more chanting either. Someone breathless against him.

Māzi. . .gon, he managed to slur by the time he recognized all of these things; his tongue finally completing a word in a language he did not know, or maybe he did once?

Mou, oh . . . m o u,

Hells? Looking down at the shape, this one white as snow — no, a grainy gray. The caves were dark. He saw one purple eye like the shadow and one gold, like the sunlight that sometimes found its way to his bedside.

He knew that face — that face was dead. Look, it rotted right in front of him! N-nuh, n--!! Dragging himself hard agains the wall back, back, back get away from it NnnAAAH!

The man's scream would carry through every tunnel for all ears to hear.

He started to panic, and she backtracked, moving away from him. No—Mou, it's me—Maegi.

"He is lost."

Shut. Up, she muttered, then turned her attention back to her husband. Mou, it's me—Maegi. Your wife. You—I think you fell into the sea. I did, too. We're on an island.

She didn't know if any of it would reach him. But she stood, staring at him insistently, and then folded herself down to her belly with a whine.

Mou, please. . .you know me.

She was saying something; that jaw moved and his one eye was wide, fixated on that face, that wound, those eyes — he knew he knew he knew, Maegi.

The man was screaming, moaning, spittle flying from his lips and greasing his teeth.

We're on an island.

Mou please. . .

you know me.

Maegi, he sucked a stale breath of air inward, and with it her name. The repulsion remained. He pressed against the wall and it hurt but he did not wake up.

'Y0u're not asleep this time.'

Maegi— 'You know me.' nuh, sh, dead, dead DEADh! He couldn't help but lash out. Cornered, as much by her there as the walls around him, as the darkness, and the knowledge that she had died long ago.

Teeth swarmed in the dark — unlike the plague of nightmares, they did not come for him.

Dead, dead, DEAD!

"Perhaps you are."

I'm not, she said, and she didn't know whether she responded to her husband or Sheogorath. I'm not dead; I'm here.

But she wanted to be, in this moment. To throw herself into the sea for his sake and have him deny her so. . .

I'M NOT DEAD! Maegi shrieked, suddenly, clambering to her paws. She padded quickly toward Mou and began to shake him, forepaws pressing against his shoulders, his bony ribs. I'M HERE! DO YOU FEEL ME?!

It was desperation and despair and anger altogether, and she'd never been good at showing emotion.

She reached for him, brought her limbs to his shoulders. He saw the Glasgow grin extend to her other side and both those eyes ensconce with light; as her mouth opened there came many teeth no! screaming stop it! shaking FEEL ME?

He drove himself forward with mouth wide to grab at her face her throat her anything to get this thing away from him!

if you mind, I can remove <3

Shit, she'd fallen asleep. Bridget woke up to a scream that echoed throughout the tunnel, one that she didn't recognize, but the instant she saw that Harka was gone she was running.

Mou. Right.

She arrived in time to see him lunging for another shape, the woman who was apparently his mate. STOP! Fuck! With a string of expletives, Bridget stumbled her way forward and tried to shove herself between the two. Her main goal was to restrain H-Mou and keep him from hurting the other woman.

He isn't... damn it! In his right mind? All there? She didn't even know. She didn't know this wolf, but he was under her care, and by her estimates that meant keeping him from killing anyone.

The three-legged healer shoved her way between them, protecting her from Mou's teeth. Not soon enough, though, to stop his fangs from piercing her marred cheek, sending fresh blood dribbling down the old wound, an iron tang on her tongue—

SKULLCHASER

the Void beneath her paws

she stumbled backward breathing hard little girl

The wound fresh, anew, as if no time at all had passed from crag to cave—

He's not. . .not—what?! Maegi demanded, feeling as if the other two wolves stood a thousand miles away. She spat a glob of crimson; it hit the ground with a sharp splat, and she wondered how it felt to have one's skull caved in;

Not right? Not here? What the FUCK did you all do to him?!

Blood; then light. The light swam around him and glimmered first where he could not see it, and then everywhere, as Bridget stepped between the two ghosts and pushed the crazed man back.

The demon roared behind the light, but it could not reach him now. He was safe. He practically disintegrated against Bridget and became a puddle on the floor. The strain upon his previously-unused and damaged body was too much, and the adrenaline leaked away.

The man's heart was racing and he coughed some, with bloodied spittle staining the rocks of the cavern.

He'd caught her, but she was able to stop worse from happening. Bridget stood still as the man seemed to fold against her, staring at Maegi, but with her ears pinned at the sound of him coughing. He wasn't well enough to be dealing with this shit yet.

Both. I don't know. He's been like this since he came here. She was frustrated, wanting to help but knowing it likely wasn't possible. Whatever was wrong with him was deeper than illness.

I'm sorry. But you need to give him space. She'd intervened to push him back, but now she squared, prepared to keep her away if she had to. She hated to do it; the two were clearly mates, and he meant something to her that ran deep. Bridget wasn't sure why he'd lashed out, but if they kept pressing, things would likely only get worse.

She had long grown used to hurts, but seeing Mou crumble and cling to the healer was a dagger straight to the heart, again and again. Right into the spot where he occupied, sometimes empty, sometimes full. Now it was a yawning void—but how could it pain her so much, if the knife hit no flesh?

Maegi sagged onto her hindquarters and let out a sob. He's my husband, she pleaded, and wasn't sure if she addressed Bridget or Mou or neither—it didn't matter. Her tears mingled with the blood, trailing down her jawline. We have children. We had—have—each other.

She listed to one side, then the other, a low keen deep in her throat. They did something, she insisted, and her eyes were narrowed to slits. The witches. They are Melonii; they cursed him.

"Paranoid little girl; you haven't changed a bit."

He was here, he wasn't here. He heard, he didn't hear; but then the ghost said one word that set him off again, wailing: Melonii.

Not coughing this time but curling in to as tight a ball as his body would allow, which was a feat in and of itself; still ruined as it was by his near-drowning, and the spider net that had rooted him to the beach.

He spasmed and moaned, shaking his head, rocking, crying, kicking at the dirt and the wall, to force the very idea away.

Bridget was torn two ways. Maegi was clearly upset and with good reason, her husband was gone and she blamed the Druids. Bridget couldn't say whether it was their fault - she had no idea what he'd been like when they found him. She didn't think it likely though.

But as she spoke, he began to spasm against the ground, curling in and striking at the wall. He was going to hurt himself.

I'm sorry. I'm going to do what I can. She kept her eyes on Maegi while she carefully stepped around, placing herself in his field of vision. Then she tried to catch his eye, to capture something of the recognition she'd had. She took some unavoidable kicks to her side in the process, but better her than to have him break himself further. I need you to breathe. Harka, please, just breathe. You're okay. Nothing here is going to hurt you. It was too bad she couldn't make that same promise to Maegi.

She wanted to go to the woman, to make sure she wasn't alone either right now. But as much as she might wish, she couldn't be in two places at once. So instead she pulled him in, like an older sibling protecting a younger from a nightmare.