Blackfoot Forest Fehu

The drum beat of his steps was the only constant as he made his way north across the valley. The plague of loss would not cease; he moved for hours and hours, drawn north among the hills with no reason to propel him. Something did. A great desire that persisted even when everything else fell away. Each glimpse of the mountains rising out of the earth (jagged like teeth) was overwhelming; sometimes he thought it was beautiful, other times nerve-wracking, but he did not stop until he found the mountains shielded from him - replaced with spires. The trees caught him like a net. Before long they were all he saw, all he knew, and the mountains stopped existing.

from the coast she would make her way inland. the open spaces ceased frequently, making her trug through thick foliage at times. due to her small size, she was able to squeeze in. and when the foliage stopped, ceasing to exist, the mountains began as if anew. blending effortlessly into the ashen ground, she made her way silently enough through the landscape. the only tell of her efforts was the stark white mask she held against flesh. 

Huntington's eyes drifted up from her walk, spotting a man a few paces away. her tail would rise to greet him, feeling a bit social compared to her past both in and out of the Teekons. she had learned from these encounters so far that people appreciated honesty - even if it was morbid and brutal. a strange thing for her. she liked her secrets. "well met" she'd muse as she neared the man. he was perhaps older than her, more worn from life. and whether this would be a good meeting or not, well, that was up to hypothetical nonsense.

Trees and rocks, and rocks, and more trees, and a bigger tree, and then — something moving. A flash in his vision that he followed with surprising alacrity; they were moving straight for him and he didn't have time to feel nervous or interested, the stranger was just there, and greeting him. Had they always been there? How long had they been having this conversation...?

The wolf shook his head sharply, as if that would clear his confusion from his mind, and watched the stranger. When he opened his mouth nothing came out - like he'd become tongue tied, but more than likely the words he'd initially wanted to speak aloud were on the tip of his tongue, forgotten. The wolf slipped their tongue across their snout, cleared their throat, and refocused.

— — When had this stranger gotten here? Where was here? No, no, stay focused, don't forget —

Have we met b'fore? The man roughly questioned. When was the last time he spoke? His throat was sore, raw and thirsty --- the wolf blinked an empty expression at the stranger and wished he could remember.

"no" came her simple reply. Huntington did not shake her head for emphasis either. merely the word was enough. at least for her. the man seemed to be a wild sort of looker, voice hoarse and almost feral in the way he addressed her company. the darkest part of her mind asked her to play with him. toy with him. perhaps even poison him if she offered a drink. no. the healer in her refused. the man had done nothing to her, though when had that excuse ever stopped her before? "are you well?" she'd ask him, forcing concern to lace her otherwise emotionless tone. her nose turned, snatching the look of moss. "do you want a drink?" no poison involved.

No — he should've known that, but it was nice to have it confirmed. She must've noticed something off about him because her next query was to the point: Are you well?

I don't know. He responded casually, too casually maybe. She was already offering him something to help, regardless of his answer. Maybe he was thirsty? When was the last time he'd had anything — oh, more things that didn't fit in his addled head. Maybe he should be worried, but even if the wolf felt nervous he wasn't aware of it. Everything would pass, leaving him empty, save for questions.

So he advanced towards the stranger, looking for something to drink - but then seemed to forget about it mid-motion, and with a pause he addressed her again. Do you know me? He asked; similar to his last question, but different enough. He had forgotten already.

curious. he did not seem to know his own condition. "do you remember when you have been well?" she shot back quietly, having a small inkling that his mind had been addled in some way. he'd turn toward her, advancing yet she remained still. her pale gaze held a soft inquisition as he again asked her if she knew him. "no" the woman would repeat "I have never met you" until now, that is. he had seemed to forget her offer, causing Huntington to blink once. yes, it seemed his mind was addled. "sit" she'd swish her tail to the ground in front of her, politely enough requesting he did so. "please."

To he next question he shook his head; he didn't have to think about it at all, and maybe he should've at least tried, but something within the wanderer told him not to bother. He would probably forget all about this conversation soon enough.

She bade that he sit, and he paused for a moment but did as she asked. He watched her for a few moments as if waiting for something - but that expectation slid from his expression, and he soon became distracted by the color of the soil at his paws. The smell in the air. The sight of the surroundings - drifting from point to point without any fixation lasting longer than a minute or so.

When he noticed her again, his gaze lit up. Oh, hello. It was a wonder he'd survived this long.

it was as she thought. there was some sympathy - a rare thing from her - directed toward the man. a surge of something she felt had been lost. the mind was a terrible thing to lose. she had trained and honed her own for countless months, only to be faced now with her worst fear. perhaps not Huntington's Disease, but dementia. her namesake would be a bit favorable compared to that. at least the killing of the mind was a mercy compared to fleeting glances into the past. "what is your name?" the woman would ask, this time a bit gently. if he could hold onto that, there was some hope.

What is your name? Came a voice from somewhere nearby; he seemed to startle at the sound of it, fix the stranger in his vision as if for the first time. She was pretty! Her face was so pale, but the rest of her looked more like the mountains surrounding them - murky grey, with sharp edges. It seemed odd to him that someone would ask him for a name when they hadn't introduced themselves, or said hello.

But he tried to think, and opened his mouth to say, Tryphon, although he lacked certainty. A second later he shook his head and said, No no, its... Laurel? No, um, this went on for a minute or two; the more time he spent trying to think of names, the longer he retained the moment. But he'd named himself a myriad of things by then — Kaskara, Valtyr, Kevlyn, among them. As soon as he realized he didn't know, he frowned - stood up - became irate, and called out, Well you should know! You -- you must know, I don't --

He stomped about for a few seconds and then saw a flash of movement in his peripheral vision; a bird taking flight after all the shouting, and as it winged away so did his frustration. He was quiet after that, forgetting what he'd been saying.

it was apparent now, the frustrated way he spoke after it followed his confusion. Huntington stared unblinkingly at the man, patience radiating from her frame. she wondered if there was even a way to fix the mind, though there was plenty of plant-life claiming to do just that. rosemary was one plant, shown to help the memory. unfortunately, she had none on hand. "I am Sidonie" she gifted him at last. something she rarely ever did. there was little harm in it, for he would soon forget.

"your name is..." a pause. though she was not against giving him a temporary name, it seemed almost cruel to her usually cruel mind. "it does not matter" she'd shake her skull slightly, moving forward to press her nose gently against his shoulder. "you had an accident. you hit your head" not true. she would try to spare him from realizing his brain was addled. it was perhaps a sadder fate than she would care to admit. "it will come back to you eventually."

another pause and she was conflicted. she could just leave him here. she should leave him here. though if she did, she would not be able to treat him. he may end up dead sooner or later. or have a wonderful run-in with the packs in the area. "what do you remember?"

He turned around when there was nothing left to look at, and was struck dumb when his eyes landed on the pale-faced stranger; she immediately took notice of him and introduced herself, and he smiled, but the look of glee faded pretty quickly. It wasn't because he'd forgotten the name — he retained that for now — but because he couldn't recall his own. Just as he was opening his mouth to protest as much, she cut in with an explanation.

You had an accident. You hit your head, she said.
Then, as he processed that and missed her next words, he caught the question — What do you remember?

A fresh frown dawned across his golden face. He thought about it, trying so hard to focus and get things straight - but images that surfaced made little sense; they bled together, shapes and names and faces and times, until he felt flustered by the effort. He shook his head, not wanting to share at first. But there was a small light-bulb moment. He said, Salt water. A soot-faced lady. And some ice caves. And... A forest, but it makes me sad to think about.

"we do not have to speak about the forest" Huntington would add into his words, shaking her head. if she had more inklings, she would suggest visiting such places to regain some memory. though it was clear the events were perhaps traumatic to him and maybe - just maybe - it was some amnesia at play. t'would be an easier diagnosis. though life was never easy. she knew it was something deeper at place. "does the soot-faced lady live by water?" she asked him, hoping to focus on a person he had known would. a name to a face.

His mind began to wander, but then the woman spoke of the soot-faced lady and something about that comment triggered his focus; he looked at her sharply, and continued to frown. I'm not sure. I think of her sometimes, but then I get cold and my heart races. Its not a nice feeling. He didn't mention the occasional feeling of being overwhelmed; of being pinned beneath the water, or the struggle of near-drowning. Nothing else in his memory suggested that the water was important to him - he couldn't recall if he could swim, and that's the only thing that would lead to drowning, right?

I wish I could remember. He spoke earnestly, without any sadness in his voice. Child-like but even more subdued, as if to keep speaking about his ailment might invite a rap on the knuckles for bad behavior. This forest is wrong — I've never been here before, he murmurs as he looks at the sharp angles around him; all these trees, all this darkness, but whether there is truth to the statement or not, the man would never be able to know for sure.

then that was off the proverbial table. he could not give a name and she was not a mind reader. whoever this mystery woman was, Huntington was not aware of them. plenty of 'soot-faced' women lived in the Teekons. plenty of darker colors. he spoke of the woodland being 'wrong', causing Huntington to look about the two of them. she saw nothing wrong. "would you like to go someplace else, then?" she was not forcing him to remain here, though she had been patient and listened to him so far. if he did not feel comfortable here, if he knew he did not tread here before, there was little point in remaining here. at least that was her logic. "you can, you know." she asserted as if he did not know he could.

He didn't react to her words this time; rather, the man was busy studying the way the higher branches mingled and twisted against one another, scrutinized the shuddering of the trees as the air picked up and blustered, and began to stride between the trees as if this was his life's calling. He was not shy in his investigation — but the further he got from the woman, the quicker he forgot about their conversation. Before long he was half a dozen wolf-lengths away from her and investigating a bush that was just starting to flower for the season. It seemed as if his addled walk down memory lane had come to an end, and he was back at the start again — empty of thought.

hm. it appeared he did not take to that. the man would wander away from her side, leaving her there. she knew it was not a good idea nor a smart one to get emotionally attached. she rarely did get attached to other people anyway. so it was easier for her to get up and leave him now. he had completely forgotten her, his memory faded once more to nothing, and was now doing what he felt was needed to be done. replacing memories into very short ones.

Huntington would rise, no longer interested if there was no way of assisting him. perhaps there was and she did not care to know. at least right now. she had better things to do with her time than hold his paw. rosemary faded from her own mind; it would have helped should she had a cache of herbs. but she did not. a shame. farewell was lost on the wind, unspoken by her lips. with a last glance at the man, she would shift her body away and leave him be. 

if fate was a kind aspect, nature might gobble him up quickly instead of leaving him to suffer. though when was fate ever kind?