This Order Be Cursed

[StrangeVsWeird]

As if her mind was made up of balled string, the information, the details she was given by the two combined pecked at strands and whisked them off, thin cords of thought stretching endlessly in all directions. The threads would snag upon each other, would knot and struggle for release as they spoke and whenever Willow tried to reach out and smooth one in the form of a question, there would be another detail, another command, something to make note of that stretched off into another direction.

Her lips had parted more than once to add an opinion or to inquire about additional details, to ask for clarification, to prod for explanation, to sate her growing curiosity, but she was effectively kept silent. By the time Garridan had asked his solitary question, Willow's mind was swirling with the colors of each string that she was trying to weave into a tapestry depicting something that was hopefully familiar to her. She had gathered what she needed to, but that didn't stop her mind from buzzing with all that she questioned.

Though, despite having reason to be frustrated or despairing, Willow regarded her situation as a...sort of adventure. It was exciting, really. Never had she been faced with such a challenge and this not just testing her intellect. Sure, death was still a possibility it seemed, but it made the challenge that more worthy of undertaking. Not that she had no regard for her life. She wanted to keep it. Very much so. She was naturally inclined to ensure self-preservation just as anyone, but there was something deep down within her that whispered death would be difficult to come by, even if she sought it willingingly.

Her gaze lingered on Oscar's retreating back, debating whether she should seek him out after Garridan released her. They've both placed emphasis on the moon and its phase wouldn't have been mentioned unless it was significant. Knights didn't just spew nonsense. Of the two, Oscar seemed more willing to divulge the information.

Willow didn't get a chance to watch where he went, her focus shifting to the knight still standing before her. A grin broke across her face. The knight has just painted a hellish picture of what she was to expect for the next however long it would be, but it didn't staunch the excitement Willow had for the trinket she was carrying. "I thought you'd never ask."

Holding out her hand before her as if offering the pendant to him, her gaze dropped to it. "It's an Espiris." Her gaze jumped up to where Garridan's should have been. "A soul stone," she clarified in hushed excitement, her smile stretching. She hadn't recognized it right away, but her subconscious had been at work pouring through all that she's read and all that she's heard to identify the object. "This is an item of lore, thought to have never existed! These things have only been mentioned in ancient scrolls and even then, the text is unclear just what their purpose is." Her head swiveled to her brother. "Remember when I took that year to study in the Southern Vale? Their archivists gave me a tome that mentioned the Espiris, though of course it meant little to me then, but now--" She stopped short, her brows scrunching as her gaze trailed off to rest somewhere to her left. "How do I remember this?"

The memory was vivid. She could remember the way one robed man regarded her as if she were nothing more than an insect, the lump on the end of his nose nearly as sharp as the glint in his stoney eyes. She could remember the number of others within those old walls, could recall the sequence of color of the books that lined the shelves behind the kinder, balding archivist. She remembered the way the coat she wore itched her skin and how heavy the tome was. She remembered the inked letters behind its cover and the longer she dwelled, the more those letters came into focus until she could start reading the page she had turned to, word for word, in her mind's eye.

She started at the clearing of her brother's throat, wide eyes snapping to his face. With heart drumming and breath shallow, she regarded her brother as she would someone unfamiliar. She pulled her gaze despite watching his brows furrow at her look and focused back on the pendant in her hand. "Where did you find this?" Her voice was soft, what excitement had filled her now dead.

"You found it," Braxton reminded. "In the village." He didn't like what had settled over his sister and certainly could have gone the rest of his life without witnessing the haunting look of her not recognizing who he was.

Willow had grown still, her gaze fixed on the ground. She curled fingers down over the necklace in her hand, her jaw hardening. "You blatantly disobeyed a direct order." The hairs rose on the back of Braxton's neck as Willow's gaze cut a sharp glare to the tall knight. "I trusted you, Garridan." She growled.

Braxton had already been moving and he quickly grasped her wrist and snatched out the necklace from her hand. Her face flickered with surprise and then twisted into an alarming rage, but before any could react, she blinked, her features softening so quickly, Braxton was unsure just what to do. "Well, now, it obviously has merit!" The grin was back, her voice lighting up with the excitement as before. It faltered a moment, her gaze shifting from her brother's face to the hold he had on her. "What...are you doing?"

Before he could answer, she gasped. "How is it not burning you?" She grabbed at his hand and although his first reaction was to resist, he could tell she wasn't going to snatch the necklace back. Instead, her eyes rounded in wonder and she lifted his hand up to eye level, examining how the trinket lay in his unprotected palm as if it were nothing more than a normal piece of jewelry. "It burned me," she mused, extending a finger to poke it, but Braxton closed up his fist around it and pulled his hand away from her, releasing her wrist as he did so.

"I don't think you should touch it anymore," he stated, shaking his head, to which she tilted hers with a lift of a brow.

"Why?" Again, before he could answer, her attention shot to Garridan. "My brother said you had found a relic as well." She smiled, eyes twinkling with new discovery. "Is it something of import? Do you know what it is?"

As if Willow had forgotten all that had just been shared with her, told to her, she stood looking to all the world as if Garridan was about to ask her to tea where they would continue their discussion about ancient relics.

 

[Dipper]

Soul stone sounded familiar. Tyr may have mentioned such an object while searching through his books, but his memories of its exact purpose eluded him. She'd launched into her explanation so quickly that he wondered if he'd gotten her tangled up in nerves. But no, he hadn't, as she stopped the moment she realized what was happening and became just as confused as he himself felt, turning to her brother with the most deluded question he'd ever heard.

"... I assumed you brought it with you…"

Clearly not. Another relic of the catacombs? Tyr never mentioned such a thing. He wasn't the sort to omit important information if it involved precious relics.

"What are you--" Garridan suddenly bore his teeth in a terrible snarl. "You had best watch your tongue."

He knew full well that it was not her voice that spoke to him, but it ignited his rage anyway. Again. Each day drew that animalistic fury closer to the surface, making it harder and harder to keep in check. Garridan was experienced, yes, but a curse was a curse. Willpower alone wasn't enough to push it down entirely.

So, anger boiling but not overflowing, Garridan breathed in deeply and let it out in a sharp, weary sigh. "That is no ordinary artifact."

"As for what we picked up," he continued, posture relaxing. "It was the crown of an old warlord, enchanted to ward off curses and protect the warlord from his enemies. Tyr believes it has value. Given enough time, he should be able to figure out how it works."

What its exact purpose was, why they'd gone all this way to find it, was best left for the following night. They would figure it out soon enough, and heaving the reality of their mission upon them abruptly was the easiest, and last damaging, method. The less they thought about it, the better they integrated. And the pendant, neither of them should have it in their possession. This was Tyr's area of expertise.

"Take that thing to Tyr when you can. He resides in the largest tent closest to the hearth. I would ask why it burns, but… many artifacts do, in my experience. We are not their owners."

Garridan debated whether he ought to take that pendant himself or not. Could these two be trusted? They'd yet to do anything that could make his trust waver, but the outburst was… questionable. Whether it had been her or the pendant itself didn't matter much anymore when he thought about it; the words were still said. Even now, he couldn't quite understand what it was about what she'd said that infuriated him so.

Tyr would know. Tyr… he always knew.

"I will leave you here-- you can find me in my tent. Oscar is also available, should you need anything.

He left it at that, both unwilling and unable to continue with the conversation. He needed time alone to think on the day's events so they wouldn't overflow the coming night. He grabbed Oscar, who was preparing his gear for a sparring match, as he passed, gesturing over his shoulder at the pair and swiping one finger across where his eyes should be. Oscar got the gist but said nothing, and so Garridan went on his way

Erek was the one to intercept him at the hearth, pulling him aside. "There's an inscription. Tyr can't place the language. You didn't notice any… What happened?"

"Things have changed. One of our initiates is not what we thought."

"I… see. You were coming to tell me this?"

Garridan shook his head and continued on his path toward his own tent. "I needed time to think. Looks like my time has run out." Garridan's tent, mostly devoid of possessions and safely tucked away and hidden from the rest, was dry inside. "There is also the matter of what she found."

"She…" Erek clasped his hands behind his back. "Huh. And she's still alive?"

"Evidently. Tell me about the crown."

Erek huffed. "What word should I use? Sorcerer? Magician? There is magic in that thing, alright, but Tyr can't find the source. It's hard for him to get close to. If I had to guess, it's just that; wards, not cleansing."

"Then it is not what we thought it was," Garridan said, disappointed.

"Unfortunately not. But! It's a fine addition to our arsenal. The wards are stronger than anything I've seen. At the very least, it'll make our job easier. We don't need more than one curse laid upon us."

"Hm… So what of the initiates?"

"I'd have her cast out if I could!" Erek pulled his hood down as if only then realizing it was there. "A woman knight, taking our oaths and our curse? It's… Unacceptable. Wrong."

Garridan undid the straps of his right gauntlet and pulled it free, set it aside, then did the same to the left. Hands freed, he worked his fingers out of the soaked cloth of his gloves and shook them out before they went numb. When he was done, he fetched a new pair and slipped them on before reattaching his gauntlets, all while Erek rambled on.

"... that you haven't already, is… Garridan, what are our options? You are responsible for the initiates."

"What she is is not her fault. How she came to be one of us is also not her fault. I will find those men, Erek."

"And you can have them. I'm sorry, this isn't what I came to you for. Tyr's been trying to decipher the inscription since we got back, with no luck." Erek shook his hair out like a dog. After running a hand through it a few times, he pulled his hood back up and stepped back toward the tent flap. "I'll leave you to it, Garridan. Just... do me a favor, and figure something out. A woman in our midst... that never bodes well for a knight."

She'd brought them neither good nor bad luck. How terrible could it be?

In the confines of his tent, Garridan closed his eye and let the world melt away.

Oscar, meanwhile, waved the siblings over, standing in the middle of the camp like a wet dog in armor. He didn't appear to mind it too much, alone and unbothered by any of the other men.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

"Well." Braxton huffed a sigh and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. "That could have gone a lot better," he muttered.

Willow eyed him, a whisper of an amused smile touching her lips. "What do you mean? We came away with our life, tongue, ears, nose, and fingers still intact. How much better--"

"Ugh." He twisted up his face in disgust. "Thank you for that image." Pocketing the trinket, he slit his gaze to pin his sister with disapproval. "We are not in a camp full of barbarians."

Willow grinned and wiggled her fingers. "The proof of that is mounting by the second." Braxton was unamused and she let out a quiet sigh of her own, resting her hands on her hips. "All I'm saying is that it could have been worse."

"I was making progress with some of the men. Wesley had invited me to have breakfast with him in the morning." He was looking out over the camp and crossed his arms with a small shake of the head. "I thought a week of climbing up the pit they had us in was rough. Now, I'm unsure if I'll ever be accepted at all."

"Distance yourself from me and they'll absorb you like this sheepskin is absorbing this water." She held her arms out to gaze down at the garment hanging on her body. A puddle had collected under her that had grown large enough to nearly drown her feet and she carefully loosened her feet from the mud and stepped out of it. "I feel as if sacks of flour are hanging from my body."

"It won't be that simple," Braxton replied with quiet solemnity, his gaze flickering to his sister, only to work his jaw at the question on her face. "You're not as worried because you're not expected to make a name for yourself." Willow's brow only rose higher. "Men make their names and women marry into them. You could be a baroness right now if you had only--"

"If I had only accepted the proposal of a pompous pig?" Willow's lips thinned, a fire sparking in her eyes. Her hands had settled back down onto her hips and now she dug her fingers into them. "He saw me as a possession, a wild creature to be tamed, a challenge to be conquered. Marriage would have been the equivalent of mounting my head upon his mantel so he could show me off to all his fellow swine. If anything, I would have slit his throat and have been hanged for the crime within a week of taking our vows!" She grit her teeth, her lip lifting into a snarl. "Are your priorities so skewed that social status is of more importance than, say, being rid of your ignorance? That will wound your chances of acceptance far worse than the challenge we currently face!"

Braxton grew still, an angry glint entering his eye. "Remind me not to confide my worries in you."

Willow blinked and pulled a steadying breath through her nose. "I'm...sorry." Forcing her stance to relax, she lifted trembling hands to look at them. "I'm not understanding where this anger is coming from." Her eyes snapped up to her brother's face when he pressed a hand to her forehead.

"I think the only thing that poultice did was wipe your memory clean," he muttered, his jaw tight. Removing his hand, he paired it back to the cross of his arms. "I'm not understanding how you're even conscious. You're still burning up like a bloody furnace."

Willow pressed a tentative hand to her head. "Is it that bad?" She couldn't tell, though her body was pulsing with an ache that seemed to originate from her very bones. Could she really be blamed for being grouchy? Though, she had a feeling that dismissing this sort of anger so simply would be a mistake. Even if ill, her blood shouldn't rile at every slight insult that was perceived. "Am I ill?"

He shook his head. "I'm just as unsure. You've been acting strangely the past couple days, but today has been blatant. You were sick to your stomach, lost consciousness in the catacombs, your eyes shine with the fever and that's not even mentioning your behavior. With and without this damned trinket you've found."

"It's not a trinket! It's a--!" Braxton held up a hand and Willow hesitated, then forced her mouth shut despite the challenge it was to do so.

"Whatever it is, I'm surprised Garridan didn't confiscate it. I certainly would have after witnessing what came from your mouth. Though, we are to take it to Tyr."

Willow's eyes rounded. "What did I say? Gods and here I thought he was just another man with anger issues."

"Seemed to me he kept his anger in check fairly well. I would have fared much worse in his shoes."

"You could practically smell the steam rising off of him!"

"Smell." Braxton repeated the word, eyeing his sister, whose brows furrowed as if she didn't realize what she had said and now couldn't explain what she meant. "And you said he was strange."

"He is!" Willow defended, but bit her bottom lip and crossed her arms over her chest in thought. He did smell. There had been a scent to his anger, but her memory of it seemed so outlandish that she was questioning its authenticity. Just how ill was she? "What did I say?" She asked again, running through their conversation to pinpoint just where she may have incited rage. The conversation was fairly normal. She was chatty, of course, though hardly worth getting upset over.

Braxton shook his head. "We can speak about it tomorrow. For now, I think you should head back to the healer's tent. You're starting to look an awful lot like a wraith." A crease between his brows revealed his concern and he reached out to grip her shoulder lightly, bending to peer into her eyes. "How are you even feeling?"

She averted her gaze and gently knocked his arm away. "I'm fine. I'm just--" She sighed. "There's a lot to take in." Artifacts, wards, memory loss, punishment...

"You need to learn how to lie better."

"I'm not lying! I'm just--" Willow stopped short at the lift of his brow and she blew out another sigh, chewing on her irritation. "Fine. I'll go see the healer," she grumbled and caught her brother's smile out of the corner of her eye. He nodded.

"While you do that, I'll move our tent over to where…" Braxton trailed and nudged his sister, whose gaze followed his after flicking it up to his face. A bright grin broke across her face at Oscar's beckoning.

"We may have an ally after all," she declared quietly.

"As long as you don't smother the poor man," Braxton commented dryly.

"I do not smother."

"You smother."

"Hush. Come on. I want to ask him about the moon." Willow was the first to respond, stepping out from beneath the tree and Braxton followed with a sigh.

"Unless my presence is needed terribly, I think I should be moving the tent. Also, please don't forget to see the healer..." He eyed her, almost swearing he could hear the rain sizzle upon her skin.

Willow didn't seem to hear him and they both made their way over to the knight. If even if he had been standing among a throng of others, Willow wouldn't have hesitated approaching him. In fact, she already had a mind to seek him out. The stars must have been smiling upon her to have Oscar be the one to wave them over.

Willow greeted him with a friendly smile, one unhindered by the nerves that riled themselves in Garridan's presence. Of the three now standing in the middle of the camp, Braxton was the only who seemed to mind the rain. "Sir Oscar." Her smile grew. "I'm pleased to have the opportunity to thank you for the tips before the day is over. So, thank you." She dipped her head for a brief moment. "My brother was of a mind to heed one now regarding our tent. I, uh…"

Talk too much.

"I also have a few questions to ask you, though at a time that is convenient for you, of course..." Her gaze wandered, trying to answer why he waved them over before she asked it. She didn't want to blatantly ask why he had beckoned them. "Is there...something else we should know? Or anything we can perhaps assist you with?" Her gaze found his once more and she crossed her arms without thought, her body rounding in on itself against the rain.

 

[Dipper]

"So... Will. Not your real name, I take it?" His grin was juvenile and sharp, white teeth a mite too feral for a man of high standing. "You want an explanation. What I am allowed to say is limited, generally speaking. Let me guess - you want to know why we revere the moon so much?"

Initiates asked the same question first, each and every time. Oscar got good at anticipating it. Feeling slightly testy, he said, "We're a gaggle of wild men, did you know? We run through the forest naked every full moon and expect you to join us come the next. And that is all you need to know about the moon."

He expected her to challenge him. They always did when Oscar felt playful or fell into a bad mood, which was frequent. The entire Order knew how fickle he could be and avoided him for that very reason, but the initiates... He was free to play with them as he wished, nobody would defend them. It was a part of their initiation ritual. Oscar got his fun, the newcomers got their answers, and order was maintained among the knights.

Tyr described him as a troublemaker, Garridan called him a balancing act. Everyone else did their best to ignore him and hope they didn't become his next target.

Oscar doubled over with laughter so sudden as to startle the man rushing by, who cursed at him. "There are some among us who would, if they could. It gets too cold at night for that. But what we do do is not too far removed."

He drew a circle in the mud between them with his boot. "Small words, then..." A crude representation of a wolf and a man side by side stood on either side of the moon, their simplistic stick arms raised above them. "Asking for the truth is like asking for a memory none of us have. What we know is that the moon... changes things. Us. It calls on a, how do I say this... A baser instinctual being within the knights of this camp. It pulls it out. We get flipped inside out like a farm-kid's puzzle toy. Ever had one of those? The prize is on the inside, getting to it is the hard part. You cannot make it unless you overpower or out think it. Make sense? The moon does that. Us knights are the puzzle. The instinct-driven being is the prize inside. The moon is the farm-kid playing with his toy."

"And the clues... The clues are on the surface. You just have to look hard enough. We all have the signs, every day of the week, every night of the month. That... thing... inside is always there, it just becomes more prominent when the moon is full. Because that is when it likes to play." Oscar drew a connecting line across the moon from the man to the wolf and back again. "Wolves are the moon's best friend. We all have one in us, because they're what the moon likes to play with the most."

A dimmer, more solemn smile followed his explanation. The rain quickly washed away the drawing. The implication was there; she only needed to draw on the connections Oscar provided. He gave the same explanation to all of their new members. Every one of them denied it, fled, and on the rare occasion, accepted it gleefully. Some didn't care one way or another. Those were the easiest for Oscar to deal with. He could walk away feeling like he'd made a difference and helped them, when really all he did was make them miserable for a full day before the curse took hold.

He set his hands on his hips and stepped back, then found himself a makeshift seat by the hearth. He folded his arms across his thighs, leaned forward, and waited to see her reaction, his joy numbed now that the surprise was ruined.

"We have all experienced it. You will experience it tomorrow night. Garridan asked that I refrain from giving you the gory details, so it looks like you have to wait for those." He plucked absently at the loose leather tie of his gauntlet. "You may have experienced heightened... well, everything. Try figuring that out on your own." Oscar could smell the the sweat off the men on the other side of camp, hear the thudding of their hearts. He could count the eyelashes on a man's eyes twenty paces away. He scooted forward. "Your clothes still smell like grave dust. I would recommend a bath, when you can. We have a nice river nearby."

"I was going to head down there once the rain let up," said a knight approaching from the common tent. He reeked of alcohol. "Which, ah, looks like it might be awhile. Damn storms..."

Oscar snorted rudely. "It smells like you already took one," he cackled impudently, tugging on the edge of the man's tabard. "What are they making in there?"

The man stepped out of Oscar's reach. "Owain woke up, said he'd show us his own... I shouldn't be telling you this, should I?"

"Not very wise, I can tell you that. I blab."

"Right..." The man's eyes jumped from Oscar to the initiate, then widened. "What's this here?"

"None of your business," Oscar said, waving him off. "Go lie in the rain, will you? My nose is burning."

The man scowled and gave the initiate a suspicious look before wandering off to tend to his ruined clothing, leaving them alone once more. Oscar wondered where her brother was.

In a tent nearby, Garridan awoke from his restful state to the sound of cruel whispers. Familiar whispers, with old voices and words he recognized but couldn't place. They followed him into his dreams, sometimes-- and sometimes he woke up with them, as if they weren't dreams at all. His memories, finally awakening, or something else?

Where have you gone? they said. What have you done?

He had no answers for them. He slipped his helmet back on and stepped out of the tent, back into the rain, and wished he could sleep, but the rain was too much. Perhaps he would take a walk around the perimeter. That would be nice.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

"Not a name I prefer, but close enough." So they didn't entirely fabricate Willow's name. It was something of a relief to discover, though a touch daring. Braxton could have slipped anytime and called her by her full name, especially considering she had spent time years ago drilling into him that Will was not her name and she refused to respond to it. Just a name shortened sounded exhausting enough to have to remember to maintain. They've been here...how long?

Oscar didn't hear her and if he did, he ignored her. Or perhaps she hadn't said anything at all. Perhaps it was only a thought to say, but one that never made it past her lips because one more potent had crossed her mind: the glint in Oscar's eye, the grin upon his face was familiar. Braxton's young face would display something similar when they were younger, though there was something more to Oscar's, something that wasn't exactly a companion to innocence. Mischief that wasn't childlike, but rather…

Wolfish.

The answer came just moments after.

...long stretches of moments after.

Willow's breath caught, the muscles in her body growing stiff as a cold unrelated to the rain seeped through her body. The men ran naked through the woods?

...and expected her to do the same?

Most women would have blushed a deep shade of red at the mere thought of witnessing such, let alone being expected to participate. Willow, on the other hand, had grown pale, her eyes unwavering from Oscar, though haunted and unseeing. She wasn't aware that she had shifted to hold herself tighter, had pressed her lips into a line in an attempt to settle the nauseous churn of her stomach. Her heart fluttered like a nervous butterfly, her knees weak at the prospect of her secret being revealed.

Not the childish secret she tried to foolishly keep from the Order. She could care less if the rest of the men discovered her true nature, could stand there in the middle of camp and declare it herself if need be. Being naked simply because she's a woman wasn't the concern.

The concern was branded into her flesh between her shoulder blades, marking her as being someone's property once upon a time. It was lined in the scars that striped her back, a source of deep seeded shame too painful to acknowledge. Two years in a circle of hell she had convinced her family and all others was time spent secluded away for study. It was a story she had tried so hard to convince herself as well. The only evidence of the marring truth was upon the skin of her back, something she didn't have to look at and could ensure no one else did as well.

That is, until now. She must have suspected the danger of its revelation before joining this Order and must have had a solution, though now one she couldn't remember. How foolish, how so very foolish to have weasled her way into here. And for what? Relic hunting?

...or was she unconsciously seeking protection? Perhaps seeking to protect her brother?

She had been studying in Fyrebrine last she knew, pouring over volumes of plants and herbs and seeds and fungi that detailed properties that could assist in aiding the Afflicted. So what in blazes had compelled her to join an Order? Surely there had to be more to it than simply looking for relics.

Or perhaps it was as simple as that. Her mother dying left her with no reason to stay and with no anchor, she was free to search for answers beyond Fyrebrine. Regardless of the reason, she needed to remember what her solution was to keep from others seeing her unclothed.

So lost in thought, Willow jumped, her breath releasing in nervous laughter just as another man cursed at Oscar for the young knight's sudden outburst. Her heart still hammered at the back of her ribs, blood rushing through her ears so loudly, she had to really focus on what Oscar continued to tell her. Thank the gods he resorted to drawing pictures in the mud.

Figures of a man, a wolf, and a moon. Her attention lingered on the spot he had drawn the images even though the rain had washed them away. Although she found some semblance of an answer, Oscar's explanation also produced yet more questions. With practiced efficiency, she smoothed her face of her unease and kept herself in check.

There are...wolves...that live within them?

Her gaze trailed to the knight, now seated, as he declared that all of the men experienced this...transition? Would that be the word for it? Gory details to be spared, he continued describing heightened senses and up until that moment, Willow couldn't help but eye the man with speculation. She had seen that mischief in his eyes, had seen it in his smile. What better way to mess with a new initiate than to paint a fantastical story and try to sell it as truth? Watch her mention it elsewhere and get a good laugh. You actually believed that rubbish? Luckily, she's lived through the humiliation of being an elder sister. There wasn't much that would effectively embarrass her now.

Though, when he touched on the senses, Willow's stance on the matter shifted slightly. No longer balancing on the fence, she tipped over into possibility, relieved that if she did confess she was experiencing such, she wouldn't be seen as a madwoman. So, he too, could see and hear and smell detail that was previously considered impossible? As if answering the voiceless question, he leaned toward her and advised that she take a bath. She bit her tongue at the retort that attempted to spring from her mouth. He didn't exactly smell of roses himself, but he did have a point. She couldn't place it before, but old death did linger on her.

She regarded the new addition silently, giving a subtle lift of a brow at his inquiry, but allowed a small smile to touch her lips when the man turned and left, thankfully taking the sharp stench of liquor with him. "You must have a reputation in the camp to have men think twice about divulging information." Her smile grew as she sought Oscar's face. There were many things she could have said or even asked, but she had enough for her mind to chew on and she didn't wish to add more to it. Not now. "After witnessing looks of concern, surprise, irritation, anger, and suspicion, seeing another smile was certainly welcoming."

Her smile slipped and she looked away, up to the sky where she may catch a glimpse of the moon through the clouds. Thoughtfully rubbing her jaw where her teeth began to throb with an ache she didn't understand the source of, Willow let out a sigh. "The moon is revered in many cultures, most of them now preserved only in ancient text. Though, in all my studies, I haven't ran across anything as peculiar as what you had described." She looked back to him, clearly wanting to say more, but deciding against it. "I'm, uh--" She threw a thumb over her shoulder, suddenly switching topics. "I'll see about that bath. Where one man has a mind to go after it stops raining, there are probably more with the same thought." In other words, now was the time she'd likely have any chance at privacy.

"Th-thank you. For...being willing to tell me anything at all." She inclined her head, a solemn look brightening to a whisper of a smirk. "Best hide your face from me. I'm likely to return and pester you with countless more questions. Fair warning." She was serious, too. Especially if Oscar was truly what he claimed to be. Blabbing meant she could have her answers more quickly. She nearly pointed a finger at the place the man smelling of drink was last seen and asked for a name, but thought better of it in favor of time. She couldn't dally if she meant to take advantage of the cover of rain even if the temptation of beginning to learn every man's name was there.

She left Oscar with a smile. If she were bothered by what he told her, she didn't show it. Not upon leaving anyway, but by the time she made her way back to the area she and her brother were going to repitch their tent, Willow's arms had crossed tightly over her chest. She was unware of it and they quickly came undone when she spotted her brother working to set everything up again. They didn't have much to move and what should have been kept dry was placed under a tree.

Siblings born to a father who enjoyed camping and fishing made quick work of erecting the tent. They didn't exchange a word until they reconvened inside, finishing up the last touch by placing their chest between their beds made of straw. "So." Braxton tugged on the chest to center it further. "What did Ser Oscar have to say?" He glanced at his sister, who screwed her lips to the side in thought.

"He said I smelled." The lighthearted reply got the laugh she was looking for and before he could question it, she shook her head. "Before I get roped into conversation, I need to find this river and wash the dead off of me."

Braxton scratched at the stubble on his jaw. "It's still raining, Willow."

"Your observations astound me, Braxton," she teased and it was nice to be able to do so. He rolled his eyes, but a smile was on his face nonetheless. She moved and hunkered down at the chest, lifting its lid to sort through all that had shifted. "I need to take advantage of the coverage. For privacy. You understand." Finding the small leather pouch that contained her soap was a relief. She wasn't entirely sure she had any, but knowing herself, she would have ensured they had some.

"Should I...I mean, you shouldn't be going alone, should you?"

She chuckled. "I'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen?" Her smile slipped when she looked up into a stern face. "What?"

"Putting the worst that could happen aside, what if you get lost?"

She laughed, this much louder than before. "Oh, trust me. I'll follow my nose back. Speaking of…" She eyed her brother, ignoring his furrowed brow. "Have you been...experiencing anything odd? Like, strong scent, for instance? Sounds you can't explain? Being able to see…?" She trailed as her brother began shaking his head, the look of confusion only deepening. Biting her bottom lip in thought, her gaze trailed to the flap of the tent and she suddenly straightened from the chest and stode to it. Thrusting out a hand, she gazed out and zeroed in on an arrow fletching she could see a sliver of through a gap in a tent thirty yards away. In the rain. She pointed. "Can you tell me the color of that feather on the arrow?"

Sighing, he rocked up onto his feet and stuck his head around the flap of the tent. Squinting, he shook his head once more. "What arrow?"

She stretched her arm as if it would show him exactly where it was she was pointing. "The one in the tent. Sitting on a table…"

His gaze dropped to her, brows scrunched in question. "No one can see that far, Willow."

She blinked up at him, her arm drifting back down to her side. "Maybe...you should go talk to Oscar…"

"What did he tell you?"

She shook her head, waving at the air to dismiss the topic. "No time! I have to get this grime off of me before the others head to the river." She quickly stepped outside of the tent, pocketing the small pouch as she did.

"What of the healer? You smelling should be less of a concern than--" He called and she twisted her head to look at him over her shoulder.

"I'll see him after! It isn't that much of a--" The rest of her words were smashed from her as air, her shoulder ramming into something solid and with such strength, it spun her from off her feet and she landed heavy in a small trench of mud.

"Watch it, pip!" The voice was gruff, an older man from the sound of it, who didn't care to even slow. He was gone by the time Willow picked herself up, quick enough to stop her brother from dashing over. She shook her head at him, setting her jaw as she raked globs of mud from off her face, her clothes and out of her hair to fling back to the ground. Her shoulder screamed its pain, but she could still move it, so likely would just result in a large bruise come morning.

It was only one of the many things she was to face.

For a second, she wondered if she could throw herself at Garridan's mercy, hope he had compassion for women and their more...delicate needs. It wasn't the humiliation or the discomfort or the cold or the hunger she wanted to avoid.

It was the pain.

Not the kind that came with every day tasks or knotted up muscles from sleeping on the ground. Not even the kind that had been coursing through her body the very moment she woke up.

It was the kind that was inflicted by another. That kind of pain hurt worse, it seemed and she could only imagine how much pathetic flinching she would do at any perceived strike from another. Even as knights, they were still men and only three knew of her true nature...that she knew of. No telling whom Garridan and Oscar had told already, but as far as she knew, most of the men didn't know. A comment percieved as an insult could result in taking a fist to her jaw.

She rubbed her shoulder, lifting her gaze to scan the camp. Garridan did say she could seek shelter…

And what would she say her reasoning was?

...someone pushed me into the mud and made me realize just how vulnerable I am.

She quietly scoffed at the thought and turned her back to the camp. Gritting her jaw, she focused on finding the river.

 

[Dipper]

"There are things not meant for mortal eyes. We must not be tempted."

"--your eyes upon the altar, what have you seen--"

"--what did you do--"

"--repayment, if she will have it--"

"--here, for the pain--"

"Oh dear. No, that will not be enough. I know of a better prize..."

"What have you done?!"

He was standing in the rain again. Scratch that-- it wasn't raining anymore. The skies were grey but clearing. Oscar was already lighting the hearth with dried wood, meaning Garridan must have been standing in place for at least an hour. His armor was, miraculously, not wet either. In that case, two hours was a better estimate. Stiffness was setting into his bones.

Three hours it was. That was as far as he was willing to go.

Garridan shoved the fading echoes in his mind down deep and tried in vain to focus on the present, but his eye ached so deep into his skull that it felt as if hot iron had been jabbed straight through the socket. Above, the bared face of the moon stared down mockingly at him. He glared back through the slats of his helmet, and a moment later the clouds covered it up once more. Garridan stood in place a few minutes longer than necessary before he made his way to the hearth, where men were slowly gathering around the new fire.

Others gathered their belongings and made their way to the river.

Perhaps that was for the best. The night ahead of them would be a long one as they wrestled with the promises of a new day. The day before a full moon would be agonizingly long, he was sure, and everyone in camp would be rendered pitifully lethargic at best, exhausted and drained at worst. And then when the night came… There was a time each evening before the full moon where they rose from their half-asleep states and ventured into the woods. Garridan would have to observe this event; waiting, against the will of his exhausted body, for the sun to dip below the trees.

He hated watching the sun. Hated the sun, though he did not know why.

Maybe it was the eye.

"I'll gather a group for a hunt," Erek said somewhere behind him, coming closer when Garridan didn't turn. "And after that… A long day of rest is ahead of us."

"Hm."

"Something's on your mind," Erek stated.

Garridan stared into the fire. His eye hurt a little less. "Dreams. They always happen before the moon, but they are getting worse. More vivid."

"Tyr might know."

"Tyr does not know everything, Erek."

Erek scoffed. "He doesn't, but he might know more than you. It's a good place to start."

"Then I will ask after tomorrow. Maybe. When I have a clear head."

He had no intention of speaking to Tyr at all. These dreams were his burden to bear and his alone. There was a personal aspect to them that he couldn't imagine relaying to Tyr, who would poke and pry for information that Garridan felt was too private to divulge. He was the head of their Order. As important Garridan was, Tyr was even more so. He could do as he pleased.

Reaching under his helmet to rub away at the ache under his eye socket, Garridan stood, stepped away from the hearth, and walked away from Erek without another word. The hunter would understand, as Garridan's temper oft flared hottest on these particular days.

Instead of returning to his tent as he originally planned, Garridan made his way down to the river. Most of the men were downriver, where the flow dipped down a small slope and wound around rocks they used as perches. They were laughing amongst themselves, stripped to the waist and using their wet garments to fling water at each other. Far from the expected behavior of knights, but he suspected it was the building stress that always came before a meal. Thus, Garridan let the playfulness go.

When he arrived to a secluded spot among the brush, he took a knee by the river's edge, then pulled off his gauntlets and gloves so he could dip his unarmored hands into the water and wash away the grime. Then he removed his helmet, guarding his face by keep it low even though none could see him from here. He cupped water in his hands and brought it to his face, scrubbing away sweat and earthy rainwater. The empty socket of his right eye remained untouched, still inexplicably tender from earlier. He ran a wet hand through his hair last, short and brown and in need of a trim anyway.

By the time he was finished - not quite clean, but no longer smelling of leather and dirt - the sky was cleared, the stars shone bright, and the moon was nearly full.

"Brother Garridan! Come join us!"

Knight Samuel. The most dressed among the men downriver. He was a short, stocky man who specialized in heavy maces and turned down shields in favor of thick armor. Despite all this, he waded through the water with surprising difficulty, stumbling more than once on the rocks.

Garridan watched on, hardly amused.

"We've got a message from Oscar. He wants you to know..."

It was going to be a long night.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

"There are things not meant for mortal eyes." She pulled her gaze from the sparkle of brilliant armor at the whisper near her ear, looking up to the tall, thin woman who had straightened from being bent next to her like a twig snapping back into place. "We must not be tempted."

A smile found her face at the giggling that swept the area, her eyes following it to take in the other women that were present. They all sat out on the open balcony, enjoying the nice weather while they still could. The sun was bright and the sky clear, but wouldn't be for long when the storms blew in from the sea. The breeze carried the scent of what was to come. Still, it was a perfect day to spill out of an old, stuffy room and finish their needlepoint in the natural light of day.

"I'm only curious," she defended softly, her attention trailing back to the men far below milling about the courtyard where they prepared for travel. Knights in armor polished to a shine.

It doesn't occur to her that what she's witnessing shouldn't be.

"Keep your eyes upon the alter." Her brows furrowed. "What have you seen...?"

The voice had changed, warbled for a moment, the light of the sun flickering with it.

You shouldn't be here.

"What did you do?"

She looked to her lap obediently at the sound of the stern voice, as if she were enchanted to have her attention be casted there. She pulled away a finger pricked by a needle, blood having already ruined the handkerchief she'd been embroidering.

"Repayment." The woman snatched her finger, boney appendages squeezing out more blood so it swelled large and dark upon her fingertip. The thin woman loomed before her, a smile splitting her jagged face. "If she will have it." The resulting cackle sent shivers down her spine.

You don't belong here.

The woman twisted around her hand with surprising strength, the force threatening to break bone inside her wrist. She couldn't resist. As if a puppet. As if…

"Here." A goblet was thrusted under her nose. "For the pain," another mocked, though the red inside was not a wine. Her finger was pinched over it, a large drop of blood falling into the cup to mix with what had previously been collected elsewhere.

This isn't yours!

"Oh dear. No, that will not be enough." The tall thing shook its head and brandished a dagger. It pressed the razored tip to her throat. "I know of a better prize."

The sun suddenly flared, a piercing light that set the creatures ablaze. She mashed her eyes shut, their shrieking demand slicing white fire through her head. "What have you done!?"

She doubled over, teeth grit, and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. There was indecision to do so. She wished for another set she could also press over her ears.

Her head was crying for relief, threatening to explode.

Was she screaming?

A click of a tongue rendered it dark and silent so abruptly that it left her dazed. Confused...

Willow stood with hands to her face, her body quaking uncontrollably from the overwhelming experience. She tried to catch her breath. It was as if she's been starved of air far longer than what was survivable.

What in the Nine Hells…?

"Naughty wittle wolfsies." The singsong made her skin crawl. "Wasn't meant for you, but the moon likes her tricks." The giggle undulated, fading into the whispering of leaves rustling in the night's breeze. "You heard the truth." The whisper at her ear was warm upon her neck, her skin prickling at the sensation. "But did you see it?" The jab of a finger to the back of her ribs made her nearly jump out of her skin, her scream caught in a tight throat. She whirled to the source and finding nothing there, stepped around in a full circle, not once, but twice. Searching, but seeing and hearing nothing more than the trees quietly laughing at her fear.

It took Willow a moment to recognize where she was and another moment to remember how she got there. She stood in a small clearing near the riverbank, upstream from the camp where she guessed the men wouldn't go. She walked until the noise of the camp was lost beneath the sound of the water and then she walked a little more. She wondered how long she could walk before her body crumpled from exhaustion. She wondered how far she could go before guilt compelled her to turn around. She wondered how long she could be gone before anyone noticed her absence and by then…

Would it be too late?

She had found a small pool of water carved into the bank of the river. It was fed from what rushed past and clean by the look of it, but detached in such a manner that it was largely unaffected by the current. It was a perfect place to bathe. She had no worry of the men stumbling upon her, not at this distance.

She didn't think to wonder if she should be concerned by anything more than just the knights.

"Leave me alone," she quietly snarled into the air crisping as the temperature dropped. She couldn't think, her mind weighed down by a fog growing thicker with each breath. It wasn't raining anymore. Her clothes were no longer soaked, but still damp and she must have done what she had set out to do because her skin smelled faintly of soap. She didn't remember bathing.

The holes in her memory were wearing on her.

"You walked too far."

She flinched at the flicker of a soft blue, her fingers curling into a fist despite the voice being different, calm and childlike. She hated this. Hated the lack of understanding and hated that there weren't immediate answers. She stared at the same girl that had carried the trinket from earlier, though this version was older, maybe eight years.

"You should go back now. I told him to go away, but he won't stay gone for long." While Willow wrestled with heeding the words of a...spirit?..., the girl grinned and held out her hand. Nestled in her palm was the necklace, glowing a soft blue the same color as the one that held it.

Willow started shaking her head, eyes narrowing with concern. "I was told I shouldn't touch that…"

Was she seriously arguing with a spirit? She's read an Espiris was unpredictable, but had never come across any accounts detailing where the living held conversations with the dead. The girl's fingers curled around the stone. "Okay! I'll just walk with you then." She suddenly hunched and glanced around the clearing, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The light keeps the shadows away," she informed, the smile gone when she looked back again.

Willow allowed her gaze to roam over the clearing, the little hairs on the back of her neck rising at the shadows thickening the further she gazed into the woods. She once had tried to convince herself that fear was irrational and attempted to live her life applying the logic that knowledge rendered fear powerless. She refused to acknowledge that the lack of answers left her vulnerable to being Fear's plaything.

She didn't need much prompting to begin her journey back to the camp. She would have gladly done so in silence--a first for one who didn't seem to understand the treasure of what a quietness could be--but the Espiris had a different mind. "The moon's excited about you." At first, Willow wanted to pretend she didn't hear the girl. She kept her eyes ahead as she made her way down the bank, pretending even that she couldn't see the girl skip along beside her. "Doesn't like your brother though."

Willow's gaze cut to the girl and she slowed her walk, questioning, but before words could be voiced, the girl gasped and pointed, an open grin stretching her ghostly face. Compelled to humor the spirit, Willow shifted her attention and found a knight kneeled by the water. So focused on getting back, she wasn't paying attention to the smell of the camp that now seemed to clog her nose.

The sight of him was a relief, though nothing more than that. She had come to a stop a few yards from him, having wandered into the treeline, and with his back to her, she shook her head at the girl when she couldn't place the mess of brown hair. "I don't know who that is," Willow told her quietly and didn't make an effort to find out by trying to see his face, even if the spirit made her feel as if she should know. Big eyes rounded on her, the girl apparently shocked by the declaration.

She sighed. Tired, hungry, hurting, and still feeling the jittering aftereffects of whatever hellish vision she was given, Willow was not inclined to appease the spirit...or whatever entity it was. She was back at camp. She either needed food or a bed and that man was neither of the two. "If he's so important, then go talk to him. I'm going to go lay--"

Brother Garridan!

Her heart skipped, a hard thump inside her chest as her attention rounded back to the man. Helmet back in place and now standing up, there was no mistaking who he was. She stared, having grown still, her eyes light upon the man in armor. The Espiris was dropped at his feet once before. And now…

"No." She shook her head and turned from the river, blocking out the rest of the exchange from the other that waded through the water. "I'm going--"

She drew in a sharp breath, catching the girl out of the corner of her eye winding up an arm, tongue curved out and an eye scrunched shut in concentration. "Don't!" Willow hissed, lurching forward to grab the pendant, but she wasn't quick enough. The girl disappeared the moment the stone left her hand, its glow bright enough to leave a ghostly trail as it shot through the air.

Willow visibly cringed at the sound of it pelting the back of Garridan's helmet and thumping to the ground, once more at his feet. She was frozen in indecision. She should turn and run. She should press herself behind the trunk of a tree and hope to the heavens he didn't see her or come looking.

Garridan becoming more annoyed, more angry with her was all she needed.

What was she supposed to say?

Oh, hey. Allow me to offer an apology. You know how ghosts can be.

Clenching her jaw, she made a sudden decision and stepped from among the trees. Snatching up a loose twig on her way, Willow strode to close the distance. She didn't look up at her approach and when close enough, she stabbed the stick into the mud to string the necklace upon it. Balanced at the twig's center, she lifted her gaze, only to tear it away at the sudden pain stabbing through her skull.

Unable to keep it from her face, her right eye clenched shut to what blazed behind it. "Where can I find Tyr?" She managed through a tight jaw, not daring to look back at the knight.

 

[Dipper]

"... No. I am fine here."

"Well, if you change your mind…" Samuel waved and began his long, slow journey back to the others. He tripped a few more times on the way while his compatriots watched and laugh, insulting his clumsy footing. All in good fun, of course. When Samuel returned to them, one shoved him over anyway.

Thunk.

Garridan jerked forward, shocked and overcome by shame at the prospect of being seen by anyone from the camp. But that shame turned into anger in the blink of an eye, and Garridan, more irritated now than shamed, whirled about with his hand on the grip of his longsword-- only to come face to face with the initiate, and in an instant his anger morphed into confusion. Such a flurry of emotions in a single, short moment almost knocked him flat.

It was wrong for her to be here alone when all he wanted was some privacy, a privacy she evidently hadn't respected. And throwing rocks at him, no less. Was she a child?

Nonetheless, he forced himself to calm down and his frown deepened into a scowl. "Don't do that again." He released his vice-like grip on his sword. "Tyr is back at camp, where he always is. Why not seek him out yourself?"

Come to think of it, it was awfully time consuming to come all the way to the river just to seek out Garridan when she was really after Tyr. Unless… She'd brought the pendant with her, strung it up on a stick in the mud. She ought to have brought it straight to Tyr. His annoyance resurfaced at the thought. That damnable thing that gave rise to his ire like no other, and he had no idea how or why. It was nothing significant. There was no special quality that he could discern.

"You should've already gotten rid of that," he said, gritting his teeth. How had she even found him? It was secluded among the trees, hidden from all but the men down river who could only barely see him when crouched down. He'd come specifically to avoid attention. He might not get the chance again.

But of course, she was no more than an initiate, and--

Ghostly, sharp pain speared through his head like lightning. He slapped a hand over the front of his helmet, directly over his eye.

Hells. What was happening to him?

"We must…" He breathed carefully. When the pain subsided, he brushed past her and walked back into the woods. "See Tyr. You need to give him the pendant and… I need to speak with him as well."

His legs felt stiff as if his boots were weighing him down, his chest tight with each breath. He wasn't prone to getting headaches, and still he had one sharper than anything he'd ever felt throbbing from eyes to shoulders. Regardless, he pushed on through the trees toward the sound of excited chatter; the men would stay awake for as long as they could, then they would crash and sleep the next day away. They always did. He would, too, had he not had more than enough willpower to stay upright and make sure all was well.
Garridan didn't check to make sure the initiate was following him.

"There we go…"

"... you'll be fine…"

They took it, it's gone and you'll never get it back.

How does that feel?

It felt terrible, whatever it was.

He growled when he broke through the treeline and headed toward Tyr's tent, fists clenched tightly at his thighs as he blundered on through the camp without a second thought. No one bothered to look up, or dared to question his stormy mood. Garridan was calm, careful; a considerate planner through and through with the intelligence to back it up. Yet here, he was more brute than man, the moon's sickening influence sinking deep into his consciousness.

Trappings of the moon, as Tyr liked to say. Animalistic lust for conflict, distaste for conversation, violent tendencies, and in Garridan's case, a substantial decrease in intellect. Like a fog over his thoughts. His awareness of things shrank into nothingness.

It was infuriating. He couldn't overcome it, got mad at the fact, and the fog got worse. The cycle would continue into the next night, where it would finally boil over and his rage would consume him in a much more psychotic, less controlled form. The damage he would cause, the injuries he would wake up to... Theirs was a curse, simple as that. There was no good in it.

At least release from this tension was coming soon or he'd beat himself senseless.

"Drink this."

Garridan was stopped short when weathered hands shoved a steaming cup into his hands. Mint and chamomile met his senses, but it only made him angrier.

"For your own sake, Garridan." It was Tyr, left eye twitching in his own expression of their beastly temperament. "What have you brought me today?"

Garridan's hands tightened around the cup as he brought it to his lips. Awful. He drank it slowly and enjoyed none of it. "I have concerns. She," he put emphasis on the word, "wishes to speak with you."

"I am aware of her being," Tyr bit back. The Knight-Commander wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself, tired eyes growing more weary by the minute. "How unfortunate that you did not see fit to tell me when you first discovered this fact. Your misguided desire to protect them will only do you harm in the end. Now, let us see what we have, shall we?"

"I think--"

"Garridan, drink."

He did. The bitter tea warmed him and settled the rousing creature inside him, but did not calm its rage, just... soothed it. Rendered it quiet and weak, and still there albeit harmless. He felt better. The sooner they got this over with and he received a balm for his aches and pains, the better, and he could get his rest. If anyone needed a moment to clear and organize their thoughts, it was Garridan. He hadn't had any time to himself, and wasn't that a pity?

"There's something off in you, Garridan. We can discuss it later." Tyr pushed him aside, into the tent, and waved the initiate forward so that they could speak.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

"Drink."

Quiet laughter bloomed into the space between them. "Of course, papa."

Willow's heart sped, a chill breezing down her spine. She stood staring, her breath struggling through a tight chest. She couldn't think through the webs strung inside her head, through the pain that seared behind her right eye as if its sole purpose was to drive her mad. Madness, it seemed, didn't take long to achieve.

A woman stood beside the man she would come to know as Tyr. There was no camp. There was no mud. There was no moon.

They stood inside a small chamber, upon marbled tile that glittered where the rays of sun streaming past violet silk touched it. The woman brought the cup to her lips and hummed her appreciation. "Just what I needed," she commented with a happy sigh, her eyes shifting to the one beside Willow as she lowered her cup. The woman smiled warmly. "You will see my father returns safely, won't you, Ser Garridan?" A hand drifted to rest on her belly round with child, her attention returning to the other. "I would like for this little one to meet his grandfather."

How Willow managed to trail her gaze to her side was beyond her, but all she caught glimpse of was a man swallowing contents of his own cup, his silhouette accented by the backdrop of a tent that did not belong inside the walls of a palace. The walls, however, rippled as the older knight spoke once more.

There's something off in you, Garridan.

Willow fought to return her attention back to the other man. He was the same as before, though now wearied. Worn. Darker, even, as if he had been shouldering a heavy burden through a black and angry storm for far too long. The camp was back, the mud beneath their feet reeking with a smell that made her stomach churn.

The woman was gone as if she had never been.

She had never been.

Or…

"You never made it back."

Willow wasn't sure the quiet revelation had whispered past her lips, but the thought was still caught in the webbing of her mind, one that had the power to reach down and cinch her heart with a pain only felt when confronted by significant loss. She had the heel of a palm pressed into her right eye, an unconscious attempt to ease the sharpness behind it, but the ache that seized her heart left her mouth dry.

Trying to swallow down the lump growing in her throat, she managed to step closer when beckoned. The man before her was one she didn't remember meeting and yet, familiarity tickled at the back of her mind, whispering that she should know who this knight was beyond just a title and a name.

She lifted an arm, the struggle apparent in its tremble as if she were lifting a large stone, and presented the necklace that hung upon the stick.

She blamed the trinket. It was playing tricks on her, inducing hallucinations both auditory and visual.

Or was it the moon?

...what was happening to her?

She fought to keep the pain from her face, but it was lined in her jaw and stiffening the muscles in her shoulders. Or perhaps it was the anger that knotted up her body, clawing through her as if seeking a weak spot to escape from.

Willow hadn't defended herself from Garridan's assumptions and reprimands. She wanted to. Oh, how she wished to, but she couldn't loosen her jaw enough to do so. In the end, however, it was a blessing in disguise. She didn't know the man, but his demeanor had shifted significantly since last she's seen him.

We get flipped inside out like a farm-kid's puzzle toy.

She could feel Garridan's anger. She needn't even had the mind to notice it stitching into his body like a garment he wouldn't be able to shed. It rolled off him, leaving the air thick with an uncomfortable heat in his wake that she had to push through to continue following him. She needn't even notice that the men gave him a wide berth to know that her meager protests, her silly defenses, were best left buried where they belonged.

That thing inside is always there, it just becomes more prominent when the moon is full.

"I was told to bring this to you," she bit out, her voice tight with the struggle of thinking coherently through the sharp pulses in her head.

We all have one in us, because they're what the moon likes to play with the most.

"An Esp--" She ground her teeth as white heat pierced through her skull, only to have it twine down her spine and splinter out to send fire through her extremities. Her body seized, her breath trapped, and Tyr feathered in her vision. It was for just a moment though, a blink of an eye, and then the pain was gone. It lingered only in her head, but its grip was loose enough that she could drop her hand from her face.

Shoving aside apologies and excuses, she focused on her task. "It has a mind of its own." Her jaw ached. "I was given the impression you would know more about it."

Hesitant to release ownership, she eyed the older man with a concern she was confused about having. "If you handle it, please do so with caution, ser." Was she worried about his wellbeing? "I've read about them, but this one presents like nothing I've come across in texts."

Her approach was too direct for an initiate, for a woman, for one who didn't belong. It would have been something Willow would have been more mindful of but…

She had a long list of reasons about why her demeanor no longer held precedence, the first of which being the pain and the visions she was experiencing. There was something amiss, something skulking in the shadows encroaching upon the camp, something beyond what the men were expecting to find.

She didn't know how she knew, but it was as if the knowledge made up the very bones of her body.

It was stirring within her, a memory hopeful to be given a voice.

"If you have a moment, it would be an honor to be enlightened by what you know." That is, if she could keep her feet. What was happening within her fed upon strength that was feeble to begin with. It was yet another challenge to face and she was sure it would only get worse.

 

[Dipper]

Tyr nodded in that wise way of his, pulling his cloak tight over his shoulders as he approached to look more closely at the pendant. "I recognize the term. I do not recall its purpose, however. A most curious thing. Let us see what we have..."

Garridan didn't hear the rest of the conversation as he let his mind wander, drawn into the bitter taste of the tea. By the end of their meeting, his body was comfortably relaxed and he, feeling the pull of exhaustion, retired to his tent to get some shut eye. In the morning, he'd seek out Tyr for answers, but until then, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Let Tyr deal with the relics, he thought. He would much rather sleep.

-

He dreamed again that night.

Vivid images of swords flashed in his mind's eye. Shadows brandished black daggers and swung them too close to his face, their edges sharper than anything he'd ever seen before. He tried to move out of their path, yet found he was frozen on the spot and couldn't so much as flinch, and each time he tried, the shadows came ever closer with an enthusiasm that sent shivers down his spine.

Look at me, said one voice. It's fine, see? said another. We're fine.

The scene repeated. An altar, a sword, a knife too close. Voices he thought he should know.

Garridan woke to the sound of a whistling bird just outside his tent, disoriented and inordinately angry about the noise. He sat up, slipped back into his armor, then headed out into the camp for his morning duties.

Morning passed by in a blur, noon was uneventful. Men lazed about under the sun in loose clothing, eschewing their protective gear in favor of whatever could easily be removed. They lounged around the fire pit, in the shaded trees, or in the cover of their tents, silent as the grave and tense in anticipation.

Their minds often went blank during this time, but that was for the best. Thinking too hard about it would only increase the stress.

Garridan busied himself with cleaning out the fine grooves of his armor. It was slow work, what with the many interlocking pieces, but he made do with a rag and some stubborn, single-minded determination. And by the time the sun began to dip, hanging just above the trees, Garridan felt accomplished, pleasantly tired rather than lethargic, and moved father into the center of camp, where he could keep an eye on the men as the moon started its ascent.

"I'm going to take a few of my hunting party a day's journey away and camp out there. There's more coverage out there…"

Erek was already in nothing but loose robes, the hood drawn low over his face as usual. A few of the regulars of his hunting parties were idling behind him.

"The less clustered together the best, I suppose." Garridan held out a hand to the simmering embers before him. "What of hunting?"

Erek chuckled. "Whatever we don't stripe to the bone. When I return, I'd like to take a look at our initiates. Someone needs to give them a chance."

"Better than nothing. Good luck, Erek."

"And to you, too." Erek clapped Garridan on the shoulder before returning to his men. Together, five men set off into the woods at a brisk pace. They would tear up a deeper part of the forest, where the game was good and habitation was scarce, if not nonexistent.

At least the initiates would get work to do when he returned. Hunting was a noble pursuit, possibly the most rewarding one they had. Erek spoke fondly of his hunts and the freedom of running through the trees after a deer without losing one's mind to bloodlust or insanity. A bow instead of claws, fingers instead of teeth, and ears sharp enough to detect their quarry a mile away. He supposed it let them engage that animal side of them without allowing it to take over.

It, Erek had once said, was exhilarating.

Garridan was just fine with his sword.

The next person to visit Garridan at the fire was Oscar, freed of his armor and scratching obnoxiously at the exposed skin. He threw a log into the fire and watched flames burst forth.

"I may head out soon myself," he said. "There was a small lake about an hour from here. I might head down there for the night."

"You better get moving."

Oscar wrung his hands in a rare display of uncertainty. "Am I right in assuming you will personally take our initiates out tonight?"

"No one else will," Garridan said. "I need to make sure they stay away from any settlements. Murder is not something a new knight wants staining their consciousness."

"Right..." Oscar looked up at the sun, lowering steadily. "Off I go, then. Lake, remember. If they are more restless than usual. A swim might do them some good!"

After that, a few more visited. Malachai, their twentieth seeking counsel, Tyr, to warn him about first transformations, as if he didn't know already. He'd experienced it first hand. He knew full well the danger. But he was also more experienced, more in control even under the weight of the monster in his head. He could see and hear and smell just as well. Each time became more and more of a struggle he always overcame, but with each success came more exhaustion, more weariness in the coming days.

The initiates were bound to question what was going on once they saw the men leave, so Garridan stayed put and let them approach him. He could handle a bit of quiet time.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

"Will you tell me what's happening?" She settled herself by the fire, sinking down as close as she could without actually sitting within it. As it was, the flames that reached for her threatened to set her cloak ablaze and she was of a mind that it wouldn't be such a bad thing if they did just that. Could they even harm her? Her skin should be ripening in pain, perhaps blistering from proximity right now, warning her that she was sitting too close.

It wasn't.

Willow felt none of the fire's heat. She didn't hear its crackle. What light it shed was feeble and thus, provided no comfort. "Oscar equated this to a child's toy." It was the moon that wished for her attention. It was its light the moon wanted the young woman to bask in.

Willow swallowed, watching the flames wave and sway with each other in a dance of mockery. "Are we things to be played with?" Garridan's profile was in her peripheral, sitting off to her right. His image was etched into her mind's eye. She had sat up against the trunk of a tree, unmoving, staring, as he worked methodically at cleaning his armor. She never looked away. Couldn't when she knew there were answers housed within his head.

She was left alone, just as he had been. It didn't seem any of the men were inclined to ask after odd behavior anyhow. Each of the men had been in their own heads, most lethargic and anxious and waiting…

Willow was stiff by the time her brother fetched her and although her muscles protested the move, it was nothing compared to the sharp sting that had been running through her veins since the previous night. She was coaxed to the healer's tent once more just as others began approaching and conversing with the knight she had sat for who knew how long staring at.

She had spent her night and most of the day inside that tent. She couldn't remember much aside from the pain that wracked her body, but had been told by Braxton in one of her more coherent states that she had stopped breathing at one point. It should have startled her, but she had no reaction, as if the news was a feather trying to sink through thick mud. Her brother only allowed her to leave after she snapped at him, under the condition she'd come back. The second time around didn't prove any different in terms of her ability to retain any significant memory.

She seemed to think better when out in the open, could ignore the pain easier when she had something to focus on. She didn't last long inside the tent a second time before her impatience boiled over, at which the healer bid her to leave much to her brother's disapproval. Instead of being allowed to follow her, however, Hamish took the young man aside, promising explanation.

It would have been an opportunity Willow would have normally jumped to be pivvy of, but her consciousness was sinking and being overridden by basic and primitive need. She had followed her nose out, drawn to a familiar scent and it had led her to Garridan who sat before the annoying fire.

"Hamish told me to let you know he has found an apprentice in my brother." Her gaze finally trailed from the flames to look upon the knight she had been speaking to, the eyes of a beast stirring within shining through her own. "Braxton seems to have been spared this…" She trailed, her attention wandering in search of a moon she could hear faintly calling to her.

"...anguish."

She was parched, starving for sustenance she couldn't name and yet, that was the least of the discomfort that wrecked havoc within her. Despite her body quaking, crying for relief, Willow pressed back to her feet and drew her cloak tightly about her. Her eyes fell from the sky and rested back onto the knight before her. "You can guide a spirit to the afterlife," she heard herself saying, the words quiet, though lacking despair. Even though she had only a piece of her mind to spare, Willow understood that what tainted her blood could very well kill her before the night was through.

It didn't sadden or alarm her, though it was unclear if this was dulled by the seemingly constant source of irritation and anger. She viewed death simply as a possibility and one she wished to address. "My true name is Willow Blackstone, born to Henry and Eleanor of Fyrebrine…"

She trailed once more and although her gaze was upon him, she was seeing nothing. "If need be, will you send mine with a blessing?" she asked, words just a brush past her lips.

 

[Dipper]

When he spoke, his words were stilted and very nearly threatening. "If your brother has been 'spared', then he's in danger."

There was no predicting what would happen should he stay behind. The most perceptive of their number would smell him a mile away no matter how well he hid himself. And if the moon caught them at a bad time, the danger grew tenfold.

But… it was nice to hear that he'd been accepted all the same. At least they'd always have a healer nearby.

Garridan rose from his place by the fire and shook his hands free of the ash that clung there, his bones aching with even the slightest of movements. Blood boiling, head ringing like a chapel bell in his head, his temper spiking at the slightest provocation-- signs of things to come. He had to keep a cool head with the initiate if she was going to make it to the other side.

He flexed his fingers one by one. "Afterlife? That is... not my job."

Whatever did she mean?

"But if the worst should come to pass, then I will do what I can." He looked up at the sky, where the moon was steadily rising. They didn't have much time. "We need to move. Into the woods. Follow me."

Willow Blackstone. Garridan thought it was a fitting name, though he didn't understand why she gave it to him. When a knight passed, a name was unnecessary; it was the deeds they did, what they were known for, that mattered. She would learn this in due time and come to forget the name as they had.

Garridan skirted the edge of the fire pit and headed toward the woods in the direction that would take them to the river. The river made for a good barrier between them and civilization, as their more bestial forms struggled to swim and apparently showed an aversion to water entirely. A useful bit of knowledge Garridan long ago decided was the best way to introduce initiates to the core of their Order.

Muscles shifted under his skin. He held tight to his wrist to force it down.

He waded through the river and when he reached the other side, he wandered further into the woods. Whether she was following seemed to be at the back of his mind at the moment. He just… needed space, away from camp, away from the rest of the Order. They all fell to the beast at different times. Some were stronger than others, more resilient. The moon liked its mind games, too, because even that wasn't a reliable way to predict when the change was coming.

When Garridan turned around to find her, he had a snarl on his face, either pained, furious, or both.

"Run-- that way." He pointed to where the trees clustered together and the brush grew thickest. "Stop for nothing. I will be nearby." With that, he turned into the woods and let the night cover his trail.

The last tether he had to his humanity slipped then as the beast, impatient and hungering for freedom, clawed its way out with an unexpected strength and twisted bone on the way out, shaping him into a horrific mess of a man.

Bones snapped and popped, but he kept walking. He yanked his helmet off and threw it to the dirt, followed by his armor. Garridan maintained enough control of his mind to divulge himself of his clothing before his chest expanded to fit more powerful lungs. And the hair-- he hated the hair, thick and course like wolf's. Fingernails loosened and popped free, making way for thicker claws. His skull cracked open like an egg, agony coursing through him in intensifying waves.

It wasn't anything new. His mind warped last as he and the monster inside became one, angry, spiteful, and wild beyond measure. Aggressive enough to swipe a songbird out of the air, fleeing his noisy rampage through the trees.

Howling sounded in the distance. Whether it was men or wolves was hard to tell.

Maybe both.

Oh, but he felt free. Heavy, but free. The world shifted into sharp focus, every leaf's groove, every overturned rock, the faintest of breaths from animals in hiding, all there as clear as day.

His own labored breathing filled his ears as he stopped, and beneath that, the faint footsteps of the initiate - Willow, he reminded himself. If she'd listened, she'd be far away by now and too far for his blood-lusted brain to care about. Good. In the distance, he caught the heavy footsteps of the other knights, a little more chaotic, more reckless than he was.

Finally, after several minutes of pain, the transformation stopped. He stood unnaturally tall, bulky and covered in a thick layer of course brown hair. He had but one sickly yellow eye, a wolfish snout, and white teeth sharp enough to cleave skin from bone. He didn't look like much of a man anymore, save for the striding bipedal gait, but the rest belonged to a monster through and through.

The human part of him turned about and walked back toward the initiate. It wasn't long now.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

Danger.

By the time Garridan uttered the word, Willow's coherent mind had sunk below the surface that divided human intelligence from animal instinct. Garridan spoke and somewhere in the recesses of her consciousness, Willow recognized the language, but the words had lost their meaning and she couldn't make sense of them past their sound.

Garridan's tone, however, was something she could process and when he turned from her, she knew she was to follow him. She did so quietly, on legs scalding from the blood that simmered within. Why her skin was still intact, why it hadn't yet melted from off her bones, was a mystery. Yet, Willow still walked, dutifully, her mind tunneling down to follow the simple instructions from the man who gave them.

They didn't go far or perhaps she just didn't remember the journey, but she suddenly found herself staring at a knight's helm, at a mouth twisted into a snarl that didn't seem to quite fit his face--or what she could see of it, anyway.

Run.

It was a command, a word she could comprehend. It helped that the hairs on her arms, at the back of her neck stood on end at what had snarled at her, warning that the directive given should be heeded. What she saw on his face wasn't normal. What she heard rumble inside his chest was something that's never assaulted her ears before, but the thoughts, those details, washed away beneath the current of basic instinct.

Run.

And so she did.

☆¤☆¤☆¤☆​

Tend to the fire, lad. It'll help ya think.

Braxton, against his will, heeded the old man's words and found himself adding another log to the fire in the middle of camp. The night wasn't terribly cold, but the howls of the men and of their beasts rising up out of the shadowy forest sent shivers of ice down his spine.

One of them was his sister.

Or…

"Very curious." Hamish had pulled Braxton's fingers flat and eyed the wound that cut through his left palm. "You feel nothing?"

"I feel it when you stretch it out like that," Braxton grumbled, but the old man seemed lost inside his head as he proceeded to rotate his hand, holding it up to the lantern's light and turning it about as if examining a jewel.

"No other...pain, though? Chills? Aches? A seething rage you can't seem to place?"

Braxton's brow furrowed. "What? No. Why would I--" He blinked. "Wait. Is that why my sister--?"

"She isn't your sister, is she?" The old man mused, pursing his lips in thought as he began prodding at the tender flesh around the wound. "By blood, I mean," he clarified when Braxton couldn't answer from being caught off guard.

He cleared his throat. "She was adopted, but that doesn't--"

The old man waved off the rest of his defense. "It's all about the blood, lad." Suddenly releasing his hand, Hamish turned toward his table and beckoned for the young man to follow. "Let me tell you a story about the beast that runs our veins."

By the time Hamish explained what was happening to the knights, to his sister, they seemed to be the only two left within the camp. Braxton was given a garland, a variety of herbs woven together to place around his neck. The healer told him it'd ward off the beasts, especially when there was plenty of other prey within the woods, and then he, too, had left the camp.

Prey was not how Braxton wanted to see himself. It was particularly daunting when left alone with nothing but the crackle of the fire and the echoing howls from the woods to keep him company. If Willow was an anomaly for being a woman whose blood the curse had taken to, then Braxton was something of an oddity himself for having blood the curse didn't touch. Hamish had only seemed excited about the prospect, a curiosity to be studied regarding the siblings.

Braxton, for the first time since joining, wondered if it had all been a horrendous mistake, that wonder traveling to thoughts of the two men who had recruited them. Where were they now and why, as knights, had they stooped so low as to manipulate and prey upon the ignorant?

Pushing away the thought, he turned his attention to silent prayer. Gathering his cloak more tightly about him, he hunkered down beside the fire and pulled the mortar and pestle into his lap to begin grinding down the dried herbs Hamish had given him.

Make yourself useful, lad. The men are going to need their tea.

☆¤☆¤☆¤☆​

Willow could only stare, unable to grasp what it was she was looking at. It was a simple image of a wolf caught within the confines of her cloak, but Willow couldn't understand why the wolf seemed familiar nor how it was wearing her clothing--or what was left of it. She wasn't trapped long in her pool of bewilderment, however. Laughter pulled her from its depths, her attention gliding from the wolf half-crazed with tearing at the cloak in search of freedom to a girl, probably fifteen, glowing that soft blue Willow has come to associate with the spirit. She was doubled over in a fit of hysterics.

"The moon can be cruel," she gasped when she had a moment of control over her giggling. Willow narrowed her eyes and the wolf growled. She was too overwhelmed to notice the link.

"I fail to see how this is funny," Willow bit out and the wolf thrashed some more before throwing itself on the ground in an effort to get its head free of the hood. It dragged itself through the mud, maw snapping at nothing, as both front and back paws clawed at the knot around its neck. Its body contorted upon itself, growing desperate to be free of the restraining garment.

"Come on! You can do it!" The girl encouraged and Willow watched as the wolf finally caught a piece of fabric within its teeth at such an angle that a jerk of its head tore it. The resulting rip was a sound that seemed to excite the beast and with another enthusiastic pull, it was free.

Willow could taste the hide of the animal used for the cloak upon her tongue, had its scent heavy inside her nose. It was a wonder shoved to the back of her mind as the wolf, once free, rolled up onto its feet, only to stumble when the world seemed to shift beneath it --Willow's mind tilting right along with--and failing to catch its balance, crashed right back to the ground. Pain bloomed through Willow's right side upon impact. Disoriented and annoyed, she grit her teeth to it.

"It's drunk," she mindlessly commented, still struggling to grasp what was happening.

"It's you," came the girl's reply and Willow's gaze snapped to the spirit. There was a moment of silence that spanned a few thuds of her heart.

"Alright, spirit. I will need an explan--"

"Nyna."

Willow blinked at the interruption and the girl met her gaze without hesitation. There seemed to be a struggle for a moment within Willow, one settled after she blinked once more.

Why did the name sound familiar?

"Okay, Nyna," she breathed, then cleared her throat and tried once more. "I'm not understanding. This wolf is…"

"It's you! Wellllllll, in a sense. She's you, but also….not."

Willow sighed. "You're making about as much sense as a rooster laying an egg."

The girl only shrugged, her giggle something that was beginning to grate on Willow's nerves. "It's different for everyone."

"What is?"

"The curse."

Willow stared some more and when she didn't give a response, the girl smiled. "You're a little different though. What was meant to be a curse the moon has turned into a blessing." The girl cocked her head. "Well. You might not think so. You have to share a body now, but--well, I can't know everything! I'm not the moon!" She defended, a response to a look that passed over Willow's face.

Willow, fighting to keep what sanity she could, pulled in a careful breath, one filled with the scent of wet earth and trees and--

A variety of aromas and odors swirled into her nose. Some sharp and crisp, some soft and sweet, some subtle and damp, some musky and heavy, some hearty, delicious…

The wolf had its nose to the ground, sniffing in a wide circle, before putting it to the air. Its coat shimmered in the breeze that brought yet more tantalizing and strange and new and exciting scents, its pearlescent fur identifying the oversized canine as a true child of the moon. Willow, for a moment, was swept up in the sensation -- scent isolated from all the rest and for that moment, she couldn't remember where she was, who she was speaking to, what was occurring…

...nor did she care.

It was the snapping of twigs, the rustling of brush parting to allow something large through that drew Willow back from out of the fog. The wolf was quick to be attentive, sharp gaze trained on the source of the disturbance, only to falter back a step when a dark mass emerged from the shadows of the trees.

"What is that?" Willow choked, the wolf whining softly at what loomed over it, over her, but in her initial fear sparked an anger, a courage that suddenly claimed control, and abruptly shifting from one mindset to another, a warning growl replaced the whimper and sounded from deep within her chest. Its chest. Willow couldn't tell where she ended and the wolf began.

Lips drew up over sharp, glinting teeth, the snarl growing louder in her ears and vibrating through her body as she stalked forward a careful step and then another, thick muscles priming for a quick reaction in defense.

"Stop! That's our friend!"

The snarl cut short, Willow's gaze darting to the spirit, but then trained her eyes onto the massive beast in front of her once more. It was strange to be looking through the eyes of the wolf, strange to think of the wolf as herself, but she didn't have the privilege of time to question everything. The girl said she was a consciousness that now had to share a body with another, yet Willow felt more like a spirit herself, drifting within and around, spectating all that the wolf was doing.

Did she even have control?

She leaned, the wolf simultaneously stretching out its neck to take a sampling whiff of the creature standing before her.

Garridan.

The answer was immediate and yet...

...Garridan?

Drawing herself back, the wolf came with and slowly lowered to the ground until its belly touched the earth. Its head remained raised, ears perked and pointing forward, highly alert and carefully assessing. Blue fire held the gaze of a burning sun and Willow gave herself the moment to process. A hulking creature, something in between a man and a beast, towered over her. The face resembled that of a wolf, but sharper, more primal, with one lone eye gazing out from it. His size, his teeth, his claws would strike fear into any heart and Willow's was no exception, but it was his scent that kept her from reacting too rashly.

She regarded him warily, the air thick with a tension drawing so thin between them that it could snap at any moment. Even though he didn't appear to be breathing heavily, she could still hear his breath delving deep into his chest, the air rumbling from the power of his lungs.

"That's Garridan?" She asked quietly, the wolf flicking its tail, but otherwise remaining still. Before the spirit could answer, however, the breeze brought another scent, this one curling down through her nose and into her rumbling belly. The wolf suddenly pressed up to her feet with snout rising into the air, catching the tantlizing smell once more. Just like that, her focus zeroed in on the prey and she darted past the massive creature, launching into an instinctive hunt.

 

[Dipper]

Howling sounded in the distance. Monsters' blood was on the air just as thickly as that of their prey. As far away from them as Garridan was, he could still hear the gnashing of their teeth as they went at each other's throats, the territorial bickering.

Lucky for Garridan, he had these woods to himself. His woods. His prey. The primal part of his bestial brain took delight in that-- only for that glee to take a sharp nosedive as he stepped out of the trees, coming face to face with a wolf.

Wolf. Wild. Not one of his?

Competition was the first thought to come to mind. A member of one of the wild packs. He hated them. They stole food, stole territory, taunted with their yips and barks and incited howling rages because they could. This one did no such thing; it stared, quite harmlessly, right into his eye and never backed down. Stupid. Maybe he'd eat it, too, and remove one more competitor from these woods.

Except… Under the musk of a wolf was something else. A familiar scent he took a moment to place.

Ah.

Their lady the moon had played yet another trick on them. Even Garridan's fried brain knew who this was. Such a subtle form, far less monstrous than his own and presumably much faster on those four thin legs. She was different. Why was she different? Different, and small, and weak looking.

He didn't like it. The snarl rising in his throat gave way to a looming rage that drew him forward, closer, until she darted away into the forest. A sharp hunter, then-- he could smell it too. The rage died down and in its place rose a desperate hunger.

If she got it, he wouldn't get it. And that just wouldn't do.

Garridan was nimble on two legs and followed after her through the trees, shoving aside saplings with hefty forearms and trampling whatever stood in his way in the pursuit of prey. Prey, which was fresh, and was mouthwateringly large, and he knew this because his nose never lied.

And then Garridan was gone as his mind spiraled down into chase, prey, hunt, instinct ignited and flaring hot in his belly.

"You have to trust every sense, not just your eyes. You see the rabbit?"

"I see it."

"Knock the arrow, there you go. When you're ready."

He knocked an arrow, drew it tight, and loosed it, straight into the doe's skull. A clean kill. This… this was an older memory, from a time long forgotten.

... Why this memory?

He came to with blood in his mouth. It was a deer they'd slain-- a buck with an impressive set of antlers that his massive hand had gotten tangled up in. He'd held the animals head down to take a bite out of its throat. Had he stolen this kill, or had they worked together? The blood haze was still thick over his mind, and he couldn't tear himself away from the kill long enough to figure out where she was.

He bore his teeth and snarled anyway, just in case.

Blood was thick on his tongue as he tore the animal apart, more eager to shred than to eat.

Bones snapped when he hauled himself to his feet. His ears flicked this way and that, nose twitching as he tested the air. There was more prey on the wind, but farther off. The others were chasing it now, judging by the mingling of scents. They were always hungry, nearing the edge of starvation even if they'd taken their meals beforehand. And when the night was over, they'd be satisfied. But only for a few weeks.

The hunt was on again, and it wouldn't end until the sun rose the next morning. He didn't look back at the wolf, but his posture was somewhat inviting and less hostile as he turned into the woods to take off again toward the others.

Would the wolf follow, or run off to find her own kind? They were kin, of a sort, but not the same. They even smelled differently, and his senses, primitive as they were, had never once lied to him.

Never, not even when he slammed into the solid body of one of the Order, and although he knew instantly who it was, he sank his teeth into flesh and latched on even as the beast shrieked in pain. It was in his way. On his land. He had to leave this place and so did the others, or Garridan would tear into them, too. And they did-- they backed up with equally ferocious snarls and dispersed into the woods to be alone.

His. His woods. His…

His head hurt. Felt dumb.

Garridan didn't remember the rest of the night.

-

Garridan awoke a good distance from his armor. Even maddened, he knew where to go when the sun rose. With his bones creaking and bending in ways they shouldn't, he began to piece the armor together and pull it on to cover himself. The sun shined brightly above, bathing the forest in an aching, burning light that almost reignited his headache.

At last, he pulled his helmet back on, but it didn't fit quite right. His head still felt like it'd been split open, and perhaps it had.

There was someone laughing in the back of his head. He squeezed his eye shut until it passed.

He rose, shakily, to his feet, leaning on the nearest tree until he got his bearings. He didn't recognize these woods, however, and faintly, in the distance, he just barely made out the sounds of groaning and muted chatter. How far had he wandered from the camp?

He started the long walk back through the trees with his mind running at a mile a minute, images from that night blurring together and an unfamiliar sickness rising in his gut. A satisfied, but sick sensation. The deer, of course. They all developed rather... ravenous appetites while on the run. Most of them preferred it that way; raw and fresh. Garridan never grew accustomed to it, but accepted it as part of the curse. When he didn't have to, he much preferred a nice fire-cooked meal.

Anything tasted better than blood.

Tyr greeted him when he arrived, slumped atop the fallen tree at the edge of camp. He looked harrowed, dark bruises ringing aged and blank eyes. He offered no more than a weak hand wave to Garridan.

"I see you are well. I think I will lie down for some time..."

"You look like you need it," Garridan said, firmly but respectfully.

Tyr chuckled. "Yes... Do keep an eye out for our initiates, will you?"

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

"Uh oh."

"What do you mean by uh oh? What's wrong?" It was difficult for Willow to keep her voice even...if, indeed, she had a voice. Perhaps it was just in her head.

...perhaps this whole thing was a hallucination. Maybe she had finally succumbed to the fever and she was currently fighting for her life lying on a pile of straw somewhere. That was more of a believable explanation than…

Nyna looked from the wolf licking methodically at the exposed thigh bone of the buck's leg it managed to snag and squinted at the rising sun. "You...should have turned back by now...I think."

The licking stopped suddenly, the wolf's tongue seemingly caught by the stickiness of the blood and stared at the spirit in much the same manner as Willow, whose own spectral jaw had dropped slightly in bewilderment. It was a moment of struggling perplexity that rendered her intellect useless, but then Willow was shaking her head and the wolf somehow managed to grumble in its throat.

What? Should have turned back by now?

She didn't want to believe it, but there was no denying the fading scent of the beasts that tore through the woods in the night, no denying the groans and hissing pain from the men she could hear a mile off as they struggled back into their armor and slowly, but surely, headed for camp. If all else had turned back, then why…?

A fire sparked within her blood, Willow's gaze piercing the spirit as the wolf's lips drew up tightly over bloodied fangs. "You can't be serious! Are you telling me I'm stuck like this!?"

The spirit blinked at her as if surprised at the sudden show of anger, but Willow could only curl a fist--or what was the equivalent of a fist as a spector--the growl generating from both woman and wolf in tune with one another. "What are you?" She snarled, the accusation acidic and deadly. "Are you some sort of fiend? Who sent you? A Trickster?" What anger boiled in her blood also fed the panic growing like an ugly storm inside her head. "I can't stay like this!" Suddenly whirling, she found the moon, now just a faint outline in the morning sky. "What do you want from me!?" She screamed until she couldn't, her voice carrying with, drowned out by the wolf's distressed and drawn howl she could feel vibrating through her very soul.

If there had been any woodland creatures, they would have scattered from the vicinity, but as it was, the only response was the leaves of the trees rustling in the breeze. When Willow looked back, the spirit was gone and its unexpected disappearance was the blow that brought the woman to her knees, her anger and panic twisting into a despair that tightened her throat and watered her eyes. She folded down on herself, making herself small as the wolf curled into a tight ball, the soft whimpers indicative of the silent sobs that wracked the woman within.

I don't understand....

There wasn't any lore or history she had come across that was even remotely similar to what was happening to her. Willow could accept she was missing a good chunk of memory. She could accept there was a spirit that appeared as a girl in varying ages and apparently lived inside a stone. She could accept she had weasled her way into an order of knights through some form of deceit. She could accept the consequences of what that meant as part of the camp. She could even accept the men, and now she, had a curse that tainted their blood and turned them into monstrous beasts in the light of a full moon.

Willow, however, could not accept she had lost her body. She couldn't accept that she was damned to be an animal, trapped in a form incapable of doing…anything she's used to doing. How was she going to read? How was she going to cook? How was she going to communicate and ask these questions that never seemed to end!?

How could she find answers when she was nothing more than a beast?

Willow wasn't sure how long she laid there, but eventually her breathing evened out and what storm raged inside her head had died down into something she could begin sorting through. Even if stuck, she couldn't just…

Give up.

She couldn't just--

A familiar scent curled into her nose, the wolf lifting its head to sample the air once more. Faint, but she would know it anywhere by now. The man--or rather the beast--nearly clawed through her neck last night, defending the kill she helped him slaughter. Luckily, she was more nimble and managed to scamper away with a leg, tucking away into her own little clearing a good distance away from the rest.

It'll be a hard thing to forget, being nearly killed by the man who claimed he'd help her if she needed. Though, the beast that swiped at her wasn't entirely him, was it?

...why were they so different from her? Or, rather, why was she so different from them?

The taste of the deer's blood was still in her mouth, the meat a nauseating mess bubbling in her stomach. Her hunger was satisfied, but to be able to taste it made her feel ill. To remember was worse and she wondered if the ability to retain her memory of the night was also something of an anomaly. Even if Garridan did remember nearly shredding her in two, would he apologize?

...would that be something to apologize for?

Mundane, insignificant musings that helped ground her. She needed to think on simple things before the complex ones drove her insane.

The wolf was on its feet and had slinked through the woods, a graceful streak of white through the morning shadows of the forest. The scent she followed weaved its way into the conglomeration that made up the camp, but she could still draw him out as if able to follow a single thread woven through a tapestry. Even the river didn't wash away his scent from her nose despite accidentally inhaling the liquid as she crossed.

Swimming had proven more difficult to do than anticipated. She had always thought canines were good swimmers, but apparently women trapped inside a wolf's body was something else entirely. What was meant to be a simple wading through the water had turned into a fight to keep her head above it.

It was strange to feel like her choices affected the wolf's movements, to be so ingrained with the body that she could feel everything: the sharpness of the rocks feet scrambled on for purchase, the cool of the water washing over the body, the burning of lungs inhaling what it shouldn't, the annoying pressure of liquid getting caught inside the ears. By the time she had made it across, she was heaving for air, her lungs and muscles sore and for a long moment as she gathered her bearings, the only thing that could occupy her mind was wondering how in blazes a ghost could be facing such trials.

She wasn't a ghost though, was she? A consciousness, one that could spectate, but also react, still subjected to endure the harsh reality of the living while coexisting with a...what? Another spirit? A different consciousness? One that obviously took the body over by instinctual need, demonstrated by the rough shake of the fur coat to rid it of water once on dry ground.

Willow didn't know what muscles did what and yet, there she stood, shaking out the wet like all she's ever been her entire life was a wolf.

It made no sense.

Someone had to know what was happening.

...right?

Tyr came to mind. He seemed to be the one they all went to with the unnatural. Maybe Hamish had an idea. At this point, even Oscar's metaphors may make some sort of sense.

...then there was the matter of her brother. Gods, what was he going to think?

Would he even believe it was her?

Questions she couldn't yet answer. Not until she could ensure her safety. She could only imagine she'd be driven off or killed if spotted by the knights. Predators didn't like sharing territory, a fact witnessed firsthand during the night.

She could only think of one solution. Garridan was the only to have seen her.

Now whether or not he remembered…

It was a chance she had to take.

Keeping to the treeline that surrounded the camp, Willow followed her nose until she matched Garridan's scent with a tent. Whether the man would be inside, she didn't know, but she had no doubt she had found the space he had claimed as his. It was larger, as most of the Brothers' tents seemed to be, and offset just enough for either privacy or to distinguish status…

Maybe. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she didn't have to wait long for an opportunity to dart across exposed ground and slip beneath the edge of the side facing the forest. It helped that most of the men were lethargic and in need of good rest, so she had no worry of being caught, though once she had ferreted her way inside the tent, she was suddenly at a loss at what to do.

Her goal was to get to the tent and now that she had accomplished it…

Should she just stand there and wait? How would Garridan react to finding a wolf inside his tent? Was he the kind of man that would stab first and ask questions later?

...that wouldn't do.

She needed something to make him question before he stabbed. Something…

Like a barrier. If he walked in and was stopped by a ring of stuff surrounding the entrance…

He could kill her for just touching his things, but at least then he'd know it was her.

...right?

Oh, how she hated not being able to bounce her idea off another mind. These kinds of plans could use some feedback.

She didn't have time to think of anything better and so, clamped her teeth around the leg of a wooden chair as the first item to drag over and use for the makeshift wall.

¤○¤○¤○¤○¤​

The night had been long and Braxton didn't sleep. Even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't have been able. The howls and yips and snarls that filled the shadows, the shrieks of fear from animals he didn't know could make such noise, would forever haunt his dreams.

He was all too grateful when the first light of sun began tinting the sky and let out a breath he seemed to have held the entire night at the sight of the first man stumbling back into camp. Braxton was quick to help, catching the thin and winnowed man not much older than himself and assisted him to a bed inside the healer's tent. Hamish, himself, was the third or fourth to arrive, stumbling in like a drunkard, his incoherent speech not faring any better, but eventually Braxton was given the directive to pass out the tea and the balm he had been making batches of throughout the night.

It was easy to keep his mind focused, at first. Seeing the men in their ragged state, some far worse for wear than others, gave him a sense of purpose to assist where he could when all others were incapacitated in varying degrees. It got harder as the morning wore on when less and less men were returning from the woods and there was still no sign of Willow. He had even caught a glimpse of Garridan and why seeing him alone would give Braxton cause for concern, he was unsure, but the pang in his gut was still very real.

He allowed more time to pass, telling himself he was impatient, but then the men had stopped coming and the camp had been filled and he could no longer deny that his sister was missing.

Willow was missing, which meant…

He didn't want to think his sister was dead and stubbornly swallowed down the rise of bile inching up his throat. When all was settled, he'd seek out one of the Brothers and ask after her whereabouts, even if the answer would be where he could find her body.

 

[Dipper]

"Y'know how many breastplates I've gotta fix after last night?" Malachai asked as Garridan passed by, his thick moustache scrunched up in an ugly scowl. They rarely spoke, to the point where Garridan hardly knew the man anymore. But he was friendly enough, and repaired his armor when he needed it. "All of 'em. Every one."

"This is your… thousandth time doing so?"

"Let me complain, Garridan. I rarely get a chance." He grinned. Malachai's grins were the dangerous sort, toothy and threatening but, at their core, entirely harmless. "Such a stickler, aren't ya? Y'look like ya need a long sleep. Or is that jus' your normal face? Nah, nevermind. Saw somethin' crawl outta the woods, should check it out. Get yourself some rest."

He was significantly shorter than Garridan, but he rammed his shoulder into Garridan anyway in a relatively friendly manner.

In the middle of camp, Oscar was lounging, stripped to the breeches and lying spread-eagle in the grass. Erek didn't seem affected at all; he stood off to the side, garbed in his cloak, and thoughtfully polished his boots without a care for the men around him. If Tyr was as wise as Garridan believed him to be, he'd be lying down for the day to catch up on some much needed rest.

Really, they all needed it. But few of them wanted to.

The energy encompassing the camp was more animated than now that the threat of the moon had passed. They had time now to bicker amongst themselves and relax without worrying, their instincts temporarily sated and leaving them happily drunk on the high of their night. Garridan, as usual, didn't take part in the rowdy festivities, and chose to retire to his tent for some time to relax before things got back in order.

Erek could handle them for now. He gave the man a curt wave and received a friendly nod in return.

"Don't be long," he said. "There's got to be some game left in these woods!"

Even if there was, they'd be moving on eventually. They'd left a bloodbath in their wake and cleared a good portion of the forest. The townsfolk would get suspicious if they stayed any longer. A day or two, he suspected-- however long Tyr decided to stick around.

So wrapped up in his thoughts was he that he didn't even notice the faint pawprints in the grass, or the disturbed flaps of the tent. Wind did that all the time. Men passing by did that. It was nothing to fret over.

Except it was, because inside of his tent was, rather unexpectedly, a wolf, and the wolf was strangely familiar.

The beast did not rouse from its slumber within him, but he felt frozen and curious all the same. Familiar. Why was it familiar? He scoured his memories of the night before, head full of cotton and blurry images.

He remembered blood, the taste of raw meat on his tongue, a hunt. Anger that a wolfpack moved in, then a realization. More anger. Acceptance. There was a she in there, somewhere, but he couldn't quite find it. That was a more uncooperative memory that consistently eluded his grasp and forced him to accept that there was now a wolf in his tent, and that was that. No point in wondering about the why.

So he stood there, jaw set and mouth a hard line as he worked through away to get rid of it. Of course, there was the matter of its unusual behavior. It dragged things across the tent with a care wolves couldn't express. Dumb animals didn't do things like that.

Dumb animals didn't wander into camp, either. Yet here it was.

He let the tent close behind him. With his sword drawn, he stepped forward, point forward threateningly. Wolves never attacked them - kinship, he supposed - but… better safe than sorry. He stepped to the side, along the left wall of the tent. What was it doing?

Rearranging his tent, apparently. Gnawing on furniture, which was already chewed up. Sending a message? Wolves didn't send messages.

None of it made sense, but he had a niggling feeling that this wolf was trying to speak to him specifically.

Why him was a good question.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

Garridan drew his sword.

Honestly, could men be any more rash?

He caught her with a wad of blanket between her teeth. She was dragging it across the ground to leave as a heap next to the other items, but the sharp end of a sword pointed at her was cause for reconsideration. The doubt that he recognized her rose quick and ugly and for a moment, she was frozen in a sheer state of panic.

She couldn't be killed! Or, worse, shooed away. How would she be able to find out her answers if she was restricted to lurking through the woods?

She simply wouldn't.

And she couldn't have that.

Her body had grown stiff with tension, the air between them just as taut, but then she plopped to the ground as if a cord had snapped inside her hind legs and suddenly, she could breathe. Unhinging her jaw, she let the blanket fall, the tongue automatically licking around her lips to relieve the ache of clamping her teeth onto things not meant to be inside a wolf's mouth.

Okay, so maybe not the best idea.

She didn't look away. Much as she had done before, her gaze remained steady on where Garridan's should have been. She could imagine what his face may look like behind the helmet. He had a strong chin, which meant he probably had a strong nose. She knew he had a mess of brown hair and tried to imagine how intense his gaze would be under the fringe, but all she could see in her mind's eye was that blazing yellow staring back. He was a man now, less intimidating in comparison, though truly not any less dangerous. Where he now lacked size, teeth and claws, he made up for with acute perception, sharp intelligence and wicked skill with a blade.

...how did she know this?

Dead.

It wasn't the first time she's been on this end of his sword.

"Well, that's eight deaths now in...what? Less than ten minutes?" There was a hearty chuckle and Willow shook her head to it.

She tried to catch her breath without trying to look too much like a fish out of water. "He's quick," she managed, breathless and staring as if the knight looming above her was something of an anomaly, something that didn't quite fit in with the world the rest of them inhabited. He shifted, the morning sun gleaming off his sword, and withdrew the point of the blade from the base of her throat, giving her room to stand. She grit her teeth. "Again." Groaning, she struggled back to her feet for the ninth time, aching fingers grasping the hilt of the sword she had lost before also losing her feet.

"No, not again." The same voice still held his laughter and her gaze darted to the man shaking his straw-colored head. "It's bad enough we're going to have to explain to your father how you got that shiner."

"It'll heal," she muttered under her breath, self-consciously tugging at the sash she wrapped her hair in to secure atop her head. She pulled it loose enough to let it drape down over her darkening right eye.

"Sure, though a broken arm or rib will heal far less quickly and I quite like the union my head has with my shoulders. The king wouldn't smile too kindly on his daughter being broken."

"I'm not some doll, cousin," she bit out, a rare show of irritation in response to the sudden embarrassment of her…fragility being brandished as an argument to cut her practice short. She wouldn't ever improve if she called it quits every time she was bumped or scratched.

The man gave his sigh a dramatic flare. "Whatever are we going to do with her, Garridan?" He asked lightheartedly, scratching at the stubble along his jaw. "Too stubborn to know when to call it quits."

"I believe the word you are looking for is determined."

"Determined to get me trouble, no doubt."

"I am not--"

"Sister!" Willow whirled to the voice, her elder sister and heir to the throne approaching in a flurry of crimson skirts. "Gods, I've been looking everywhere for you! Do you know--" The taller woman stopped short and with eyes growing wide, she gasped, porcelain hands reaching out to cup Willow's face. She brushed aside the sash. "Who did this to you?" She whispered, nearly as breathless as the younger sister in disgusted disbelief.

Willow quickly pulled from her grasp, falling back a step and shook her head. "No one. I did--"

"Gods, you're a mess!" Her sister surveyed her a moment before stabbing their cousin with a glare. "Finn, how could you allow this to happen? You know this--" She waved an impatient hand at the sword Willow clutched. "--this crude practice isn't fit for a lady, let alone a princess!" Her blazing glare swung to pin Willow. "And you know better than to--"

"Evelyn, I am not a child." Willow's voice was cool and indicative that if there was going to be a discussion between squabbling sisters, it certainly wasn't going to be in the presence of their father's knights. Evelyn drew herself up, her jaw rippling as she looked down her nose at her sibling, who calmly turned to the two men as she carefully sheathed her sword. Willow held it out with both hands to Finn, who took it with a lopsided smile. "Thank you, cousin," she addressed, successfully keeping her own face smooth of the smile that tried to tug at the corners of her lips. "And you, Sir Garridan." She dipped her head. "I know you don't--well. Thank you for standing in for Sir Gregory…"

The images, the words, the voices flickered through her head so quickly, Willow could almost convince herself that it was her nervousness that triggered such grand imaginings, but…this wasn't the first vision that she had. She has had another of the same woman in crimson addressing Tyr, of knights preparing themselves within a courtyard…

"You have to help me," she tried suddenly, pressing back up to her feet as if he would understand the desperation that seized her. "I'm--" She stopped short, furry ears twitching at the warbling noises coming from her throat, sounding nothing more than a dog trying to form human speech. A sudden growl tore through her and she snapped at the air in frustration, ripping herself from where she stood to pace the stretch of tent he couldn't reach her with his sword unless he moved.

"This can't be happening. This makes no sense! This has to be a dream. A nightmare!" She cut her fiery gaze back to the man. "Why don't you remember? You're supposed to remember!" She growled, but immediately tamed it, knowing full well she could seem too much of a threat…

Maybe…

Maybe it didn't matter. Perhaps it was better he did see her as one, or at the very least, a nuisance to get rid of. Huffing out a sigh, her shoulders sagged, her head dropping in tired defeat. If there was a choice, she'd much rather face a blade than be shunned.

Lowering herself to the ground, the wolf curled into a ball, placing its back to the knight, and closed its eyes. "I'm not going anywhere," she informed quietly, canine mumblings rumbling through her chest. She slit an eye to gaze at him out of the corner of it.

She knew him somehow, didn't she? Beyond what she could currently comprehend. It made her head hurt just thinking about it and thinking about how all of this, all of what was happening, were threads of spider silk being spun into an intricate web.

Was Willow nothing more than a helpless insect caught within it? Waiting to be devoured by a hungry arachnid?

Musings interrupted by the soft glow of a blue stone floating in through the flap of the tent. The wolf lifted its head, regarding it silently, gaze trailing the spirit she assumed Garridan couldn't see. The girl, perhaps the age of five, strode to the knight with a large grin and dropped the trinket at his feet for the third time in two days.

The spirit faded without saying a word and the wolf gazed at the knight in silence, as if waiting for something, though not knowing what.

 

[Dipper]

A cracked altar awash in moonbeams groaned a deep, mournful song through the forest, bellowing unearthly melodies deep into the men's bones. The men, who stationed themselves stalwartly in a ring around the altar, did not flinch or move from their posts. They knew they were safe, as long as they stayed outside of the circle the priest had set.

The priest mumbled in an incomprehensible language, his wolfskin robes flowing around his ankles as he went through a series of fluid motions, hands raised before him above the white altar. Their leader approached him and the two exchanged quiet words.

At the end of their conversation, the priest turned on him and surged forward. Garridan stumbled back, backpedaling into the woods, into a shadow that hung over him like a cloak and then suddenly--

-- he was back in the tent. His pain was gone.

Sick. That's what replaced it.

Ugh. His stomach roiled hotly, urging him to lie down-- he would, if the wolf weren't such a persistent and irritating presence. Stupid wolves. He'd hunt them down next time if they insisted on following him and his men back to camp, stupid beasts.

His sword arm wavered when the air became murky between them, his eye straining to focus on the wolf as though it were standing behind a waterfall's curtain.

The wolf warbled in a pitiful attempt at what he assumed to be growling, but it made no attempts to get closer or act against him. That alone was enough to make him lower the sword completely, its tip hovering over the dirt. Wolves caused trouble, stole food, and ruined hunts. They didn't hang out in tents or pull furniture around. That required more than the feral brain of a wolf.

He put two and two together and came up with a viable, seemingly impossible, answer.

"Wolves are never this lonely or persistent," he said softly. He sheathed his sword and took a single step forward. "But you are… you are no wolf, are you?"

No ordinary wolf, no, but still a wolf he must be cautious around. Crafty little things, they were. He'd rather not take the risk. He kept a good distance between them as he stepped further into his tent, hand on the pommel of his sword.
Curious, Garridan took a knee in front of the wolf. His hands overlapped each other atop his knee. Then he leaned forward and forced his jaw to unlock enough that he looked less stern, though it was a poor attempt and wolves didn't watch men's faces when they decided whether to kill. But getting in close, actually looking at the animal, was all he could think to do, what with his senses still recovering from a night of overstimulation.

Come to think of it, this little wolf did look awfully familiar. And if that beast inside him roused at its presence, then that had to mean something.

He met its gaze, though it couldn't meet his, and stayed perfectly still.

"Wolves never understand men, but perhaps you may. You do, don't you?" Stars above, what situation he'd found himself in. He shook his head. "Get up, get out of there."

Wait.

There was that pendant, again. He felt stalked and cornered by some unfathomable force whenever it showed up, alongside a reassuring spark of memory-- this wolf was, indeed, a member of the Order, based on the simple fact that he'd come to associate that same pendant with the initiate it seemingly followed.

And followed her it did. He scooped it up and rolled it between two fingers. Nothing about it stood out to him, other than the almost otherworldly feeling that flowed through him when his fingers made contact with its center. He held it up to eye level.

"Tyr never got his chance with you," he said to the pendant, letting it roll back into his palm.

Garridan returned his attention to the wolf. Right, like it had any answers he would understand. He gave nothing more than a subtle twitch of a smile before he spoke again, addressing the wolf once more.

"The moon plays tricks," he said, clutching the pendant tightly. "But not often with jewelry. What, precisely, are you trying to say?"

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

A whirlwind of excited relief rippled through Willow, the wolf's tail wagging softly to it as Garridan finally sheathed his sword and addressed her directly. Each second stuck in this form felt like a grain of sand lost from an hourglass as if a countdown had been initiated the moment the moon turned her. Running out of sand meant Willow would be fated to be a hairy beast without thumbs or a proper voice forever and whether or not it was a true phenomenon she faced, the idea of it was enough to make her panic.

...with as much grace as she could muster.

A panicking wolf could be mistaken for a rabid one and Willow wasn't keen about giving this man any reason to run a sword through her.

...you are no wolf, are you?

No!

Excitement flared bright within her and the wolf may have yipped in reply, but Willow was too focused, silently encouraging the knight to continue piecing together the puzzle that stood on four legs inside his tent. If she even blinked, the connection might be lost and then Garridan would likely dismiss the notion as preposterous.

Wolves never understand men, but perhaps you may. You do, don't you?

Yes!

Relief flooded her system, flowing so swiftly through her that whatever worry she had was swept away within its current. It left her airy, the tension in her muscles dissipating. All the struggle she had faced since waking in that healer's tent was going to finally be worth enduring if Garridan could just help her return to her true form. She waited as if with bated breath, wolf ears perking in anticipation of his reassurance.

Garridan shook his head instead. Get up.

Willow blinked, her faith slipping.

Get out--

Riding on that current saw her smashing into a stone wall she wasn't expecting to be in her path. It was jarring. Garridan might as well have uppercut a fist into her abdomen if the sudden lack of air and rolling stomach was any indication.

...what?

What!?

No, no, no, no, no! This can't be--

The wolf's ears laid flat against its skull, lips pulling up over fangs in irritation. The beginnings of a soft growl rumbled in its chest, but before it could sound its heated disagreement, Garridan's attention shifted and then the pendant--that cursed pendant!--was back in play.

The knight, for the first time since it's been trying to get his attention, held it up for a moment of inspection, before clutching it into the palm of his hand. Garridan's focus returned to her and the twitch of his lips, the subtle amusement playing about his words, was enough to have Willow, along with the wolf, narrow her eyes.

The moon plays tricks.

"Yes, I am quite aware of its shenanigans," Willow muttered, which only came as a soft grumbling from the wolf.

What, precisely, are you trying to say?

The wolf may have growled and given a sharp bark of impatience, the disappointment from just a few moments earlier still making her feel queasy, but before a sound or a movement could be made, Garridan's fist--or rather the stone inside it--erupted into a ball of blue light. The rays penetrating between his fingers were so sharp and bright that it hurt to look at, but just as quickly as it surged to life, Willow didn't have time to react, to avert her gaze, before she was yanked out of the wolf by the nape of her tunic.

Willow landed on the balls of her feet and, flailing, was able to catch her balance, but her teetering mind was a different story. It reeled with the assault on her senses -- the lighting too bright, the air too cold, the smell too sweet...

Though, where once she had felt incomplete as if the edges of herself were frayed and fuzzy, she now felt wholly solid. She was back! Hands flying to pat at her head, her face, her body, the delighted grin spread ever wider and she couldn't help the squeak of pure joy.

There were many things she may have said then, many things she may have done. Shout for joy, dance, profuse her gratitude--

Movement caught her attention and she grew still at the sound of a voice.

"There!" Hands dusted themselves off before her and Willow suddenly realized she wasn't the only affected by what had just transpired.

...what did happen?

"Never in all of my existence have I had to deal with such stubborn souls!"

Willow blinked in bewilderment, her breath catching at not only the sight of Garridan, his image somehow shimmering and standing before her, but of that girl appearing as a young woman, now eyeing them both with a narrowed gaze and hands on her hips. For a moment, Willow didn't seem to know how to speak and the spirit didn't give her time to try. Turning on a heel, pale fingers snapped in the air. "Come along. Hop to it! Our time is limited."

Willow's gaze trailed after her, the spirit--though now solid?--walking down a marbled hall, walls plastered with intricate designs and gold trimming, rising until they disappeared into a thick mist overhead. Her gaze trailed from the hallway stretching away from them and the young woman walking down its center to the knight who stood before her, only to then have it wander some more until she was looking upon what they've left behind.

Nothing changed within Garridan's tent with exception that the only two living things were now unconscious-- the wolf's head dropping to its paws and the man's chin falling to his chest before his body slumped down to its side. Willow stared for what seemed like ages, blood rushing through her ears, heart hammering the back of her ribs, but she finally managed a careful swallow.

"Okay, before you get upset," she heard herself saying quietly, her gaze pulling from the scene and drifting to Garridan's...spirit? What was this? "I didn't do it."

 

[Dipper]

Wolves made a fool of Garridan far too often. Nothing in his head fit right after a full moon, his senses felt far too slow, his thoughts like sludge in his skull, and all because the moon liked to strike him dumb from time to time.

A joke, he thought. He was a joke to whatever gods preyed upon the Order. A man who thought himself clever was always the easiest to fool around with. Before he could quash the indignant rise within him, the world around him shifted on its axis and expanded outward to the fringes to make room for something... different.

Not the kind of different that built up healthy minds. No, this felt...

... wrong.

His heart ground to a halt, lurching backwards through his spine and landing hard on the grass alongside his crumbled bones and sleep-loosened muscles. He'd gone from standing to crumpled on the floor, yet when his mind caught up to his surroundings, he found that he was standing so perfectly still that he wondered whether he'd hallucinated. Whatever matter made up Garridan had slipped free and left him feeling light, empty, and somehow incomplete.

Garridan was sure he'd collapse under his own nonexistent weight if he stepped forward. As such, he resolved to stand as still as a statue for as long as possible or until the feeling passed by. He busied himself with observing his surroundings in the hopes that they would ground him and pull him down from whatever high he was experiencing.

Marble floors, reflective enough to turn his most severe scowl yet back on him. His formerly grimy boots were polished and clean. The plating of his gauntlets was shiny, too, leather clean and lacking the soft give of worn leather. Brand new?

The points weren't connecting in his head. Clean armor, fresh leather, a tabard that must have been newly acquired, as his was remarkably torn and dirtied. And his head-- his neck felt far too light. He found his helmet missing when he reached up, hand passing through air and stray locks of ethereal, not-quite-there hair.

Like sap, realization set in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, and he turned on his heel to see the barest impression of his own body slumped in the heap of a transparent tent, helmet tossed aside in the fall. His body. In the tent, except not, because he was far away now and knew damned well that these marble floors were not the campgrounds.

"Never in all of my existence have I had to deal with such stubborn souls!"

He was dead. That was it. The moon was biding its time just to terrorize him further. He took a breath and discovered that there was no air to take. "What?"

How pitiful that that was all he could get out.

He tried again.

"Didn't do it," he repeated with a grumble. "It? What is it? What is this?"

Garridan's anger was bubbling low in his belly at the prospect of her dragging him into a mess like this. A mess that endangered his very soul, as far he could tell. He turned his scowl on the young woman beside Willow, one eye narrowed to accentuate his sneer. Not the initiate's fault, but very likely hers. His glimmers of memory weren't serving him now. Nothing about her was familiar, even as she stood upon marble floors he swore he should know.

Or maybe not. This... soul business was a matter beyond his ken.

Maybe a soul-devouring demon thought them to be an easy meal. That, or he was haunted. Surely it was a haunting, with ghosts and phantoms and every manner of curious entities tying themselves to innocuous objects out of spite. Tyr would find them eventually and banish the horrid creatures, but he'd always feel a little stalked. And violated, though no possession had taken place.

"Where is this place?" he asked as he backed up along the string that tied him to his body. He would very much like to not be here. Judging by the way the young woman - woman? - spoke, however, he doubted he would get his wish anytime soon.

Garridan stopped when he realized what he was doing, then placed himself between the initiate and whatever creature came calling. The very least he could do was make sure one of them didn't suffer the humiliation of possession. He'd be damned if an untried initiate's first night out with the Order took a turn for the worst.