The Heartwood Why does thou weep upon my grave

Meant for @Dreven, but another is welcome to stumble upon them if they so desire

Swaddled close by the silky white pelt of a slain fox, Khasni emerges from her hollow for the first time of many days. The first sacrifice has been done. The damned one has spoken, and the harbinger now knows his home. But there is more work aside from this to be tended. The elders have told in many dreams that her safety is of importance, but who best to find ways to ensure it than herself?

The skies are clear and the heartwood are calm. Of all times to travel, now is the wisest. But first, company is necessary.

High goes her chin, lips circling as they send a call from within the veil. The harbinger is whom she seeks, as the warder will be busy elsewhere. 

And now... she waits. Until the dark beast comes, she waits.

Dreven wandered and marked throughout the territory. Jealously guarding the borders from any and all usurpers that would make their way to their hold. Red Eyes gazing. Staring. Boring. For any sign, any sign that he could meet with violence.

Though there is death and decay in the barren trees of the wood. Deep down there is also life, green and prey and everything is abundant. They will make a good home here.

A howl is loosed across the grand expanse. Requesting him, certainly. One last snort of air, and a paw scrape across the ground. He turns and lopes in that direction. Brown foot paws, tearing up the ground. Each stride long and confident. The Saga has called for him. She needs him, and she is not one to be left waiting.

He arrives, to see the thin petite thing wrapped in vulpe white. It shows up starkly against her brown dappled fur. Red eyes meet pale and he smiles with rows of sharp teeth.

Hello, Saga. You called for me?

The harbinger is quick to come. He wastes no time, which makes him even more suited to the title given to him.

Again, he calls her Saga. She knows he sees the label highly strung and shall never let it slip from the memory of his tongue. He knows it well.

Saga must travel. Now she mocks him — not of humor or scorn, but more to show the contentedness it brings. A sensation of insecurity besieges me. This world bears many dangers, and in it there are those I cannot defend myself from. The elders require my tongue to relay what the forsaken cannot hear. It was reasoning enough. What more need she explain?

I know what it is I seek, but I hear their pleas to not travel alone. She looks at him expectantly now, assuming, hoping that the dark beast will understand her predicament and know of her exigency. 

Pale eyes met his and the Saga begins to speak. There is a slight inflection, mocking in her tone, but he feels no ill will from it. Merely absolute acceptance of his words.

Tattered ears move forward as she continues to speak. Her voice whispering, curling around him. Where Malacath is deep and full bodied, her's is eerie to him, otherworldly cementing her into place of importance. Not as important as their leader, no, but important none the less. Perhaps it is a small nick of self-preservation that raises her up higher on the pedestal.

Half-lidded eyes, watched, while he listened, and finally Dreven nodded is head. I will keep you safe while you look for that which you need. Lead the way

He moved not to be in front of her or behind, but beside. Though he brushed her as he passed, and then waited. The position he took able to guard her from all sides. He was long and large enough that he almost encompassed her, and were any to look to one side, they would only see him. This way he would secure her safety. Nothing would happen to the little she witch seer while he was on guard.

 "I will keep you safe while you look for that which you need. Lead the way."

A doer of her will and a guardian of her path. Harbinger to the damned, but servant to the influential. 

Come, She cooed softly, tone beckoning him with an enticing whisper.

The beast moved to walk beside her. Occasionally, the wool of his flank brushed her own. If any other man, or mayhap even a woman, Khasni would have not been the best tempered. But this one was different. He held trust for her, as she did he. As far as she could tell, he was a puppet linked to her string — and she would have it no other way.

We look for a plant today... a toxin to which can be lain upon my fleece and be used as a defense mechanism against possible threats. Do you know of many toxins, harbinger? There again she used that same, alluring voice, this time brushing the edge of her snout along his shoulder as he spoke. 

The inflection in her tone changed, and his ears perked forward, and his body took notice. Though the change was not obvious. For now it mostly his internal switch.

He was no fool, and he was far more in tune with others than he would admit. He had been the Queen's consort after all, but more than that, he had been a tool for many. Used many ways. He was used to it.

This little seer had a high place in his regard. Of why he could never answer, perhaps it was a safeness he felt in her little world. Of spirits and sacrifices. The happiest he had ever been, was when he was with his father no name, who had done much of the same things. Though not for spirits no.

He listened to the gentle purl of her voice, curling, weaving. He was ensnared. When she touched his shoulder, he gave a soft noise of a purr. He was a wolf of pleasurable pursuits, but he thought of her question.

Castor Oil plant, can kill if ingested. Pink and barby. Deep voice returned her gentle ascent, he kept his eyes lidded. Continuing his gaze around, but always returning to study her as he answered.

Jimson weed. small white. Unassuming.

The harbinger was not silenced by this query. No... he had answers.

Purring in a teasing manner, the tiny woman flicked her tail against the beast's quarters. So you know some poisons. Perhaps we could keep an eye out for those as well. They could be useful at any given time. Poison was a safeguard for almost any situation; plus, it came in handy when a certain dirty deed need be done.

So busy talking, she'd nearly forgotten the direction in which they headed. The border of the heartwood was upon them now. 

Lifting her gaze to that of the harbinger, the woman's lip curled. She had no brought him along simply to tread their own land. They would be going farther. 

The heartwood does not grow the bounties we seek to richly. Other lands will have them, surely. We just need to find where the undergrowth is thickest.

Dreven's knowledge was not vast for poisons and herblore. He could simply remember the ones father no name had used so often. There was another, that did not kill, but paralyzed for a time. But he could not remember it. That was a favorite of his brothers to keep him calm while they took turns. He flicked russet, tattered ear.

Another soft sound of agreeability at her swat. Were they not on a mission, he would have nipped at it playfully, but as they were on a mission, and she was seeking something. He did not offer that play and ploy.

I know a few, but not many. was his baritone answer. They can. If I remember the one that paralyzes, but doesn't kill I'll tell you, but I cannot remember at the present time..

Dreven gently stopped her with his large head and stepped forward past the border line to look around. Then with a chuff, he returned to her side.

Thick Underbrush. He nodded and though he kept a weather eye on the tiny saga beside him, he also kept an eye out for enemies, and thickets.