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Away

Part two of three

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Adagiodajiang

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Alyssa

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There were letters, yes, many letters. She pored over them as if they were a lifeline to another world and another time, missing him dearly. Every letter was filed away in a folder she kept in a secure binder, up on a bookshelf in the living area of their home. Yet that home was empty without Sandor to fill it with his spirit and life too.

Sometimes, he sent her small items, magically enchanted, though she never saw him. Some were curiosities, like a small child's toy or feature item for a noble's home featuring two bears sitting on a see-saw that went up and down. It was something she might have expected to see wound by hand - but, with the aid of magic, it worked on its own as soon as the enchantment was activated.

She left it in the kitchen on the windowsill, where she could see the wooden, carved figures of the bears playing happily, as if they didn't have a care in the world.

There were precious gems too - highly valuable ones. He made sure that she was taken care of, though Alyssa filled her time with chores and finding work around the town. She had spent a lot of her time looking after the household of Sandor's family before and was good at sewing, mending, a little bit of woodwork, cleaning (that was pretty standard) and much, much more. Her proficiency with the bowgun, though not with the explosive arrows for her day-to-day, was improving greatly too, allowing her to hunt and earn a fee for what she killed.

She did not enjoy hunting, however, being naturally inclined to eat vegetarian. Of course, with Sandor enjoying meat, she knew that it was something that she had to do, kneeling and saying a small prayer over any small animals that she took the life of. Of course, she stayed away from deer and hunted as little as possible, taking only quick, clean, gentle kills. The meat that she did not immediately sell she preserved for Sandor.

She did not spend most of her time hunting, though her proficiency in gathering herbs - she seemed to have a knack for finding what others found difficult - made her popular with the mages that were in town and also the apothecary. They did not treat her too badly there, the residents of the town warming to her, though that could have been because Alyssa ran around making herself useful. The more she filled her time there, the better.

However, once, Sandor sent her a box of high-quality, golden beryl. That had set her on edge and made her grateful to have the bowgun, for she felt forced to sleep with it for several days, until she relaxed again. There could not be more of a prime target for burglars, though no one knew she had received it and she tucked it away safely, hiding it where no one could view it from peeking through the windows either. That could be sold, of course, if she ever ran into trouble, though she didn't have an address to return any messages to him.

She should have asked him for one, but she was not to know that Sandor had kept the address from her deliberately.

Six months passed...and then the letters stopped - after one. He wrote to say that he was sorry that he would be late, that he would not be returning on schedule. It was a short letter and Alyssa had struggled that night, staying in bed with a candle lit - non-magical, for it had a different smell to it, a more comforting scent. Her stomach had ached something terrible, her heart burning for her lover. Though she had to stay strong, yes, she knew that. He would return to her and it was most certainly not Sandor's fault at all that something had come up to delay him. Hopefully, it was something good, a new study that he could not miss, that would further his magical education even further.

And then seven months passed... And then eight months... And then nine months...

She tried, desperately, to get in touch with the other mages that had left with him, researching and speaking to those that should have known where the mages were going. She had found the grand hall that Sandor had said that he was going to, at least, though it was so far away that she could not just travel and leave the house - and it was not as if she was equipped to travel alone. She'd never travelled alone before! And what if Sandor came home and she wasn't there?

No... She had to stay home, but she had to find a way to get in touch with him too, magic going beyond the abilities of those that knew how to use it. There were books upon books in Sandor's home library - a workroom of sorts - and she pored over them with shaking fingers, pressing down the fear in her heart.

Something...could have happened to him. The mages that she had managed to get in touch with said that they had not seen him in some time, had assumed that he had returned home. They did not keep up contact with her, not being friends of either Sandor's or Alyssa's, seeing no reason to communicate with her. It was not their problem, to be fair, even though it felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest by something even more powerful than magic itself.

But she stood strong, believing in him, even if she did not know what had happened to him, for there had to be something. When there was nothing in his books that would allow her to communicate with him, for she had hoped for some kind of messaging service, perhaps to drop a letter at his feet, she was forced to merely hold hope. Keoshi looked at her sadly when she said that she was sure, so very sure, that Sandor was going to return home soon, that he must have gone on a trying mission and not been able to send any more letters. She ignored the fox, however, for he was not her fox, even though Keoshi was still her friend.

Sandor loved her. She loved Sandor. That was all Alyssa needed to know, all that she needed to hold close to her heart.

If she prayed hard enough and thought hard enough about the fox, every night, she wondered, would she convey her mind, her love, to him, somewhere out there? Somewhere in the distance?

She hoped so. But that was all she could hope, praying, carrying on, remembering that he was hers and hers alone.

It was up to her to have faith in him.

She sighed, sitting at the table alone, though she had kept Sandor's chair there, slightly angled out as if expecting the fox to plop himself down in it at any moment. Though there was one thing that she desperately did not want to consider, toying with her food, not having much of an appetite as she pushed her baked vegetables, despite the nice, flavourful sauce, around her plate. She didn't want to think that Sandor was not returning because the worst had happened to him.

Still, Alyssa had to acknowledge that it all very much was a possibility. He could have been seriously hurt and, well... She gulped, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes, though Alyssa did not allow herself to cry. He could be dead. She didn't know and had no way to know. How long could she wait for him?

There was a limit, after all, and it was not dictated by her, but rather by her biology, her species. Her kind could live to around forty, though she would be elderly by then and slowing down, even if she most likely would still be able to do most things to keep a household, even if a simpler one. The life expectancy of taurs had grown in recent times, but they still were not expected to live as long as anthros, which was why she had kept touching him, stroking him, keeping her body in contact with his during that last night.

Any time apart reduced their time together much more than it would have if they had both been anthros. Such was the woe of being a taur, or maybe just one of the woes... For it had not been an easy time or life for her so far.

Her own life was half over already, facing her mortality in twenty years or so, give or take.

She sighed. He would come back, she told herself, believing it fully. She only hoped, with how things had taken such a dark turn, that she would still be around for the fox when he returned. If something magical had detained him or if he had even been imprisoned somewhere, there was no telling, however, whether she would still be alive by the time he found a way to escape or, eventually, was released.

She cherished him and loved him, nuzzling into his pillow at night to inhale what remained of his scent there. Although she had never spoken to Sandor about how her lifespan was shorter than his, she hoped that he knew, that he understood. But she hoped, oh so very much, that the fox was alive and well, regardless of what was keeping him away from her.

Hope and love... They were all the deer-taur had.

*

Sandor

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Of course, Sandor had more than one reason for travelling to further his studies with the other mages. They had far more mundane reasons than him for wanting to learn more and he was, probably, the only one with such high stakes, though he did not freely impart the information to those around him

The devouring... That was what he had begun calling it, though the grand hall of mages and study had offered hope for the devouring. He had to find a way to cull the urge, to eradicate it from his system, especially when the cravings were coming increasingly frequently. Sometimes, they gripped the fox with such ferocity in the middle of the night that he was forced to sink his jaws into his pillow, shredding the sheets with his claws, drooling, sure that his eyes were strained and bloodshot. He locked the door, locking himself in his bed-chamber, which was quite similar to a basic room at an inn, though he was not sure at all that a locked door would be enough to hold him when the devouring was upon him.

It was not just Alyssa that the urge came upon him for, as it continued even while he was away. Yet the masters and experts - so-called! - did not have anything for him, nothing at all! There was nothing in the town of mages, though he went from door to door, emboldening himself, asking all the questions that he could, though they eventually branded him a troublemaker. Some even said he was crazy and, frankly, salivating like a wild beast, wanting to eat, to devour to savage...Sandor felt it too.

Maybe he was crazy. Though not in the way that they thought.

One wizard, one that dealt with matters of possession - anything was worth a shot, as far as the fox was concerned - suggested, after some thought, that there was something wrong with his brain. Sandor, of course, had scoffed at that, for there was a difference between magic or even potions affecting the physical form of the brain and mind. It did not help his impression of wizards, where their magical focus lay set apart from mages, but he knew that he was not facing any ailments of the mind.

When it came to his physical and mental health, he was not sick. But something lay inside him, something causing the devouring. And it had all begun when he had travelled to the town with Alyssa and been struck by the dart. Something had interfered with his body, something had sunk into him. Yet he had no further leads on it and the fox's frustration only grew. Every day, he drooled over the others, the urge to snarl and devour, to roll them up in his vines and to take them growing stronger and stronger, driving through him like the wild beast it truly was.

When the six months were up there, he did not stay with the other mages or return home with those that determined that they were due to return to the town that they were born in anyway. The fox did not tell anyone that he was leaving, for they all thought that he was out of his mind anyway, word of his "supposed ailment" (according to them) spreading. In the early morning, as if it was as normal as anything else, he packed up a bag and slung it over his back, in tough trousers and boots, a cloak slung over his shoulders. Some spare clothes were packed, along with some food, but he would have to hunt and cook for himself. At least taking a tent with him offered some shelter, though the fox did not even know where he was going.

He left the city of mages, what should have been a second home to him, and searched the wilds. A note left behind and a journal determined it to be academic research, his expedition, in case anyone there did care enough to come after him or if Alyssa did try to get in touch, which Sandor was sure that she would.

Yet with such high stakes for everything, he had to keep going, had to do something, had to remember just who he was doing it for. Maybe he could have lived with the devouring, if it was something that he could have tempered or softened with potions or the like and devoted his time to that, but nothing made it rise as much in him as Alyssa did. And that was why it was such a problem.

He couldn't. He wouldn't.

For Alyssa, above everyone else in the world, he had to find an answer. Or else.

Being away from the mage city too meant that he reduced the risk that he would cause harm to others, for there were few anthros where he travelled, deep into the forest and up into the mountains, using his magic and stores of mana, where needed, to replenish himself. He could cook on a fire and bring some preserved food, all using his magic, along with him, but he mostly didn't need to eat, something else sustaining him, keeping him going, as if the devouring was a completely different force inside him.

The Poison Galeland was just one of many places he had in mind to visit, a desolate place that was swamp-like and deadly. It was a place that could be used to collect rare and dangerous herbs - as the name of the land suggested, the thick channels of murky water offering quick deaths, many of them poisonous. It was a fen-like place, flat and unnerving, though the foliage was thick, gnarled roots of trees sunk deep into the waters and marshy banks to suck up all the moisture and nutrients they could. It would have been the perfect place for a being like the ancient tree that had possessed him, a long time ago, to inhabit. That part of him, most likely, was what had kept him from succumbing to the devouring for so long, though Sandor did not have enough information to tell whether that was true or not.

As he travelled, the vine-like tentacles that had become a part of him after the ancient tree and evil had been harder to control. He was sure that he looked more savage, creases around his eyes and wrinkles in his muzzle as if he was caught perpetually in a snarl, the tentacles out and writhing. They had darkened to a green-black shade with mottling along them, with the texture of a vine, but he did not bother controlling them as he had done so often before, especially around Alyssa. The encounter with the ancient tree had changed him.

But the changes came through more and more as his hunger grew. The tree... It had tried to absorb him - had, in fact, managed to take him. And that was part of what he wanted to do too, to suck others in, to devour, to claim.

He couldn't hold back any longer, coming upon a cluster of hares. They had not heard him coming as he moved with the stealth of a predator, boots barely making a noise, and his tentacles had lashed out before the fox could do anything about it at all. The small beasts squealed and screamed, knowing that their time was up, though no amount of kicking and flailing and thrashing from the hares, not even their bouncing, twisting evasive manoeuvres was going to get them away from the ruthless, gripping force.

He squeezed them with his tentacles, absorbing their life force. They faded, swiftly, drained of energy, drained of life, drained of everything that made them what they were. Although the anthro part of him reeled in horror, screaming and clamouring for the devouring to stop, there was nought he could do, not as the hares slowly shrivelled against the tentacles, smaller and smaller, digested, even down to the bones. There was not even any need for them to go into his jaws or down his throat for the devouring to take what it had craved for so long, absorbing them whole and feeding on them in more than the way of taking physical sustenance.

When he had come around, Sandor had shaken and shaken, hunched up on the ground with his knees drawn up against his chest. No amount of retching got the hares back up out of his system, but he knew that, even if he did try to discharge them from his body, one way or the other.

The devouring was a part of him. And it was getting stronger.

What if...I absorbed anthros...like that?

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He shuddered. No. Better not to think about that. But the devouring within him leapt and growled at the notion, salivating, drooling, wanting that. It terrified him, just how much he wanted to absorb them, to digest them - just like he had for those hares. It was only good, for him, that he had not seen any deer out there, but he hoped, truly, that he would not come across a single one.

He was not sure he would be able to bear it if he absorbed a deer, the devouring getting the better of him.

The Poison Galeland deepened in twists of trees and gnarled walkways, giant roots allowing him to bridge the gap between marshy outcrops, brushing through the reeds. He kept walking, hunting, searching, his memory his best resource when it came to poisons, for there were many there that could be formed into antidotes. When it came to a magical affliction, it was a long shot, but there were only so many straws that he could clutch at.

He only hoped that he had not drawn the short straw. For the only true satisfaction that the devouring had taken had been from feasting on the hares, already craving more.

He didn't know what he was going to do there, if he could not hold back his devouring urges in the city. If he was fading and losing control, there was no telling what would happen if he came across an anthro. And yet perhaps talking to someone with deeper, darker knowledge was the only call he had left to make, trying with all his might to find a way, any way, to make things right with himself again.

In his mind's eye, he saw a deer cross his path, the form morphing into Alyssa. It was not real, yet it felt real to him, his tentacles lashing out, wrapping around it and...

"N-no... No, please..."

He mumbled to himself, trembling. No... No, he couldn't go back, had to take care. The swamp beckoned and he thrust the mental image of devouring Alyssa, his love, from his head, as much as the nightmare sought to haunt him.

A way, there had to be a way, some kind of way.

He would not give up.

The swamp deepened, the undergrowth trying, though he was able to use his tentacles to break through most of it, his nature magic working with him naturally, as if it was something that had always been present in him. There no longer seemed to be any need to hold back the fire magic that he had spent so long honing before the encounter with the ancient evil, though he blamed that seemingly innocuous mission for starting so many changes in him.

Maybe things would have been different, if not for that quest, with Alyssa, the mission that had almost killed both of them.

Maybe. But there was no way to tell.

The master of poisons had chosen an apt place to live, deep in the swamp, two cottages tucked away at the end of a jetty, under an overhang of earth that protected them somewhat from the elements. The cottages, at least, appeared to be well-made, giving him hope of competency, for it was truly a decrepit place to live, so far from even a village and any form of other civilisation.

He held in his urges, the devouring having taken a rat earlier that day and then a reptile of some kind that had been swimming through the waterways of the swamp. He hoped that that was enough to satisfy his urges to absorb, feeling "full", but not honestly knowing for how long that would last.

If the mages proficient in plants did not believe that there was anything wrong with him, perhaps a master of poisons would be able to tell him something, anything.

He knocked shakily on the door with Kastalia, feeling foolish. Yet no one could have been more surprised than him to see a serpent answer the door, using the tip of his tail to work the handle, though it seemed to have been adapted for one with a feral form such as his.

Sandor looked up at the serpent, built more like a naga, though there was no anthro-like part of him, no arms and no legs, just a long, serpentine body clad in red scales with an amber tint to his underbelly. His eyes gleamed darkly, though the home was clearly his, a black tongue flickering in and out from between his lips as he tasted the air.

"Oh... I was expecting..." Sandor floundered, though he was not afraid of the snake that "stood" taller than him. "Was there not... I had heard that the master of potions lived here, a female anthro canine? Said to be in golden fur?"

The snake shook his head, sighing sadly.

"No... No, I'm sssorry," he said, the rasp of a hiss pulling through his tone. "That was my wife. But ssshe passed away many years ago."

Sandor sighed and hung his head.

"Then I don't suppose that you have some of her studies remaining?" He asked, willing to try anything. "I... I have a problem. A big problem. And it only seemed to be set off comparatively recently..."

The serpent cocked his head in a way that was quite unlike a snake, though Sandor had not known all that many snakes in his time, so who was he to judge. His tongue flickered out again, eyeing up Sandor's tentacles, and he slithered back, undulating his coils as he moved over them in a way that Sandor had not seen a single snake ever do.

"I am Miron," he said, simply. "Perhaps I may learn your name too at the table, for it is what my wife would have wanted. She was always here to help and you remind me of many a weary traveller that came our way, over the years. Come. Sit."

Inviting him inside, the serpent sat him down, though Sandor politely refused a beverage: he didn't need to drink anymore either, or didn't feel the urge to. He went through everything, explaining first how the ancient tree had come upon him and Alyssa, how he was so sure that it was that which had set the course of change upon them.

"It... I think it killed me," he said, confessing the truth of the matter. "I was not me...but I came back as me. I still remember everything, my life, Alyssa, everything about magic that I had learned before then. This is a version of me, but it is a changed version, one that came through when I took power from the tree, absorbing it as it had tried to fully absorb me."

He shook his head, staring down at the wooden table in the simple but comfortable cabin. There had only been one seat in there, covered in dust as if it was rarely used, if ever needed.

"The power of the tree within me grew... These tentacles..." He shrugged helplessly, for he had not been able to hide them for a long time - in fact, Sandor was unsure just why the serpent had allowed him in with eight of them sprouting from his back and sides, all at once. "They came from the tree, they feel like vines. But I was darted by something that blocked my access to my mana when travelling with Alyssa and...I think that changed something."

The serpent regarded him, his tail curled around the handle of a mug, though it was larger to accommodate his size and even the thicker tip of his tail, as dextrous as it clearly was.

"It awoke something in you," the serpent said levelly, though there was a light in his eyes that said that he had not heard it all before, that it was different. "This... This is similar to something that my wife dealt with, many years back. If she was still alive, bless her soul, she might have had a solution to this one, however corrupted it is."

He tipped forward eagerly, knocking the table. Without thinking, his tentacle vines raised, expectant. To his credit, the serpent did not flinch.

"Then you know what it is?" He said desperately, too desperately. "I... This... I need to be rid of it..."

"For your partner, I understand," Miron said. "That would be... Yes, I will not go into further detail there, I promise."

His hiss became more pronounced when he was upset, head bobbing back and forth as if the serpent was charmed or entranced, though it was nothing like that, only emotion bubbling through.

"It is an ancient plant toxin," the serpent explained, Sandor hanging off his every word. "This lies dormant in the system, until awakened. I believe, many years ago, it was referred to as a hunger, though it could infect prey and predator creatures alike, whether they were sapient or not. My wife, once, treated a shrew afflicted with such, though the whole ordeal was quite distressing for them... Alas, I do not have her powers, I do not have her magic and I do not have her knowledge."

"What do you know about it though?" Sandor pressed, unwilling to give up now that he had been offered such a tiny sliver of knowledge and hope, as much as he had suspected the ancient tree to begin with. "It must do more than lie dormant - why now? Why has it risen now? And why is it getting stronger?"

Miron surveyed him, as if he was wondering if Sandor was going to lose control right there and then.

"I do not know the answer to that, but I do know that it infects not just the flesh but the spirit too. The toxin is not in your mind, not as others suggested, when they cared to listen to you, but they cannot be truly faulted for their lack of understanding. No... It is in the spirit, which is much deeper than that, the core of your being. Some call it the soul, but the spirit harbours the essence of all magics."

He gulped, mouth suddenly dry. That sounded serious, if he had not already, quite starkly, had the dire nature of the situation impressed upon him during his travels. Thinking consciously about what he was doing, Sandor pulled his tentacles back from the serpent, though the snake seemed unperturbed by how they had been wavering and creeping closer and closer to him. Perhaps they knew that they would be able to get away from the fox, if anything did happen. Sandor was not so sure, though he had the devouring under control, at least for the time being, shoved right back into a deep, dark corner of his mind where he still had to think about it. Just not too much.

"I know some of what my wife said, however, though my memory is not exact," Miron went on, hesitating a little as his black tongue flicked out cautiously against the side of his muzzle. "It has a cure, the hunger, the devouring... But there is an ancient being with blue hair, perhaps purple... A doe-taur of ancient times, an ancient being. The legend rang true, for those who were cured before, but the tales goes such that she was, is, a kind being, using the pure power of nature to aid in healing. She was said to assist many injured people, from anthros to taurs and beyond, creatures too, regardless of their status in life. She even cared for and healed soldiers after wars that took place many thousands of years ago."

Sandor gulped, heart pounding.

"My..." It was harder than ever to get the words out. "My lover...was...is a doe-taur too."

He didn't know what that meant. It would be too easy, too simple. Yet Alyssa, of course, didn't have the right colour hair.

"I doubt they are the same, fox," Miron said with a hissing sigh, shaking his head. "This being has a flower atop her head also, poised as if a pair of horns, the petals blooming during the day and closing at night. Though the twists of fate may have brought your lover into your life to match this ancient doe-taur, to lead you on the right path to find the healer."

He sighed and licked his lips. His throat was parched, but water would not quench that kind of thirst.

The serpent fell silent, considering things - and then slithered away from the table, at which he had not needed a chair, without another word. Sandor blinked at him, curious, but did not move, watching Miron from a distance. The snake moved to the back of the living area, rummaging through shelves with small jars and vials, which seemed to contain what he would have recognised as herbs and potions.

Hope bloomed in his chest, like the flower that was said to bloom from the top of the doe-taur's head. Maybe something...

"Here."

Miron slithered back, his coils undulating softly, easing back and forth with barely a sound.

"Here, this is medicine," he said simply, for he was not proving to be a serpent of all that many words. "The pills. I do not have many, but this will save your life, for now. I wish I had more to give you."

The serpent let out a breath, eyes softening. Sandor swallowed hard, taking the pills with a nod of thanks. The small bottle had abruptly become his most precious of cargos.

"Thank you..."

"Do not thank me yet," Miron said. "The ancient being... Do not be fooled by appearances, young fox. She may appear beautiful and sound kind of heart, but there is more to this one than meets the eye. She may still exist and be your only hope."

He paused, surveying the fox for a moment further.

"Also...never hide anything from your beloved one. You never mentioned her knowing any of this, as you spoke of your trials... And I know that hiding matters from those I care about took years away from my wife and me. She is your closest ally and perhaps even the one to lead you to the doe-taur of legends, the one who will save your life."

He gulped and nodded, though the weight of everything rested more heavily on his shoulders than ever.

"I understand... It's not always easy...is it?"

Miron nodded, though the ghost of a smile flickered around his lips.

"Yes... Well, no, no... It is not always easy. But we must continue, yes, along our best paths in life. We only get one life, after all."

There was no more business to be had there and Sandor thanked him profusely, leaving the quiet, lonely soul to his business. The fox only hoped that he would be able to return, one day, and thank Miron the serpent properly for all the help that he had given him so far.

If all went well. And who was to tell?

The door closed softly after him as the fox paused on the firmer ground near the wooden cottage, glancing back at it. There was no need to travel by foot anymore, but there was no way for him either to simply return home to Alyssa, not when the devouring was upon him. He could feel it, tentacles writhing, reaching hungrily, even straining back against the very cottage where the snake was contained, his home.

He could not do that to the serpent... And, if he was that far gone, he could not do that to Alyssa either. He would sooner kill himself.

For the pills would keep him alive, stopping the ancient toxin, an evil if he'd ever seen one, from consuming him. Yet they would not stop the toxin from spreading, the devouring growing in strength, even while he was kept alive.

No one was safe around him. So, he had to try.

He took Kastalia between two hands, drawing a shaky breath. He had to concentrate, letting everything, even the devouring, slip from his mind, drawing on his teleportation magic. His time in the city of mages had, indeed, allowed him to become more proficient, though he had not found the information that he had sought there, despite everything. Whereas he had only been able to transport himself with a body of mages before, he was now able to teleport to a given location alone - if he had a beacon.

He drew the array, to guide the spell, in the ground with the butt of his staff, murmuring under his breath. It was not always needed, but it helped focus his mind, drawing on his magic, using the mana stored within him. With the ancient evil throbbing through his veins, he seemed to have more of it than ever those days, though it was not a power that he took any kind of pleasure in holding for his own. Others may have, even if it meant their eventual death, but that was not the way Sandor saw it.

It wasn't him.

Retrieving the small box from his belongings, he opened it and softly fingered the white fur that lay within. It was not yet time, but it was his way home: the beacon that he had taken from Alyssa. For the fur was from the thick fluff of her tail, what would allow him to, finally, teleport home.

When he was cured. When he was no longer a threat to her. Or, at least, had a cure in hand... Sandor groaned, emotion pushing up in his chest. No, no... Best not to consider that right now. Who knew where his path would take him?

But he had to keep going forward, walking on, his head held high, as always. He had to find a way.

"I will do this," he breathed. "For you, Alyssa, my sweet... Forever and always."

Before he went home, there was one more place that he had in mind to try, somewhere to start, at least. After everything that he had been through, he had to search, had to fight, with only a limited number of pills in the little bottle to keep him alive. If he didn't find a way, he would not even have the chance to go home, as he consumed himself.

He exhaled softly, focusing his intent. His body faded, chanting the spell, disappearing from the swamp - and reappearing somewhere else.

He had to try.

Continued in part three of three...