[ P ] wicked ones

He no longer knew where he was. He'd spent the better part of the past few years in Rionnach, living among the people as best he could when he was not wandering the wilds but now he found himself in an entirely different realm. Across the sea there were new places to explore and he wondered... was this where he was meant to be? He knew a woman once who would have pondered such fateful questions with him, but he'd not seen her in some time. Instead he wandered mostly alone and kept to himself. Many had been in and out of his life over the years but those he cared most about were dead and gone. His memories, twisted by the fog, urged him to believe their demise had come about yet he had no proof other than dreams.

It seemed enough for him, for now.

As he moved through the blooming field of poppies, he found a sort of peace wash over him. He felt calm. Sinclair couldn't tell why, but the flowers seemed to have some sort of effect on him, maybe it was in his mind or it was a reality -- either way it did not matter for he felt their bliss regardless.

He carried on, debating on when he would return home to the Redwood, when he spotted another wolf near a lone tree in the field. He stopped, thinking for a moment it might be some mirage of sorts but no, when the wind drew her familiar scent his way he knew she was real. A woman he'd met years ago, before all the craziness had happened, and she was still here, looking as he did. It was a wonder what this land did to its inhabitants and he wondered briefly if he had been cursed to live forever now.

With that thought drifting away from him, he approached her, a sly look on his face. "It is you," he said, the woman from the other islands. "What have you been up to all this time?" he asked.