Blackfeather Woods each night reunites me with the feral tenderness of my own evil

He's been hunting for fresh poppies for a few hours, and has begun to run out of light. Mou hates that. He hates his dependence on the medicine, but mostly he hates the season shifting around him. The chances of him finding a fresh harvest at this time of the year is slim and while he isn't trained in that fact, the weariness and burning desire tell him as much. His head was pounding. His skin itched, his eyes watering and red-rimmed.

It was too dark. And so Mou stumbled along in a frenzy trying to find something to alleviate his needs, but instead of the plants and the seeds he is after, he finds a body. At first he thinks it might be someone he knows, but the closer he gets the less certain he is of that. They're darkly cloaked. Their interest seems to be in the trees, but Mou doesn't see what they see, and he wonders if something is wrong. A part of him is reminded of when Maegi overdosed on the sand but this is different than that, the stranger appears to be more active than she ever was. Mou sniffs the air but can't detect anything. He wonders, then, if this is a different sort of overdose.

And then, deeply, darkly, he wonders if there's more of whatever-it-is to go around.