England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St George, Skirrid Inn
5 November 1898, 11:19 a.m.

Behind Kyle's eyes burned the consuming fatigue of a weary mind. His fingers drew circles at his temples, and a few strands of raven-black hair tickled his skin. Still feeling caked with blood and mire this morning, he even washed his hair twice. Now he wore it combed back. As it began to dry, the curls sprang back out and fell forward into his features and forehead.

Dr. Archer must have been just as tired because he was even more taciturn that morning than the days before. Again and again, he rubbed his chest conspicuously, so that his skin was already a little red in that spot. He wasn't wearing his shirt buttoned all the way up, his scarf hung loosely around his collar and his jacket rested over the back of his chair. Unlike Kyle, who was carefully dressed, the doctor looked more like he was actually in this place for recreation but couldn't cope with the beds.

Kyle closed his eyes for a moment. Today the Skirrid Inn was almost empty. Only at one table, at the other end of the taproom, sat two elderly gentlemen, just as they had the day before. They were talking in hushed tones, for a few moments even about Walsh's poor daughter. Slowly, it seemed to dawn on one or the other of the villagers that perhaps there was more going on here than had previously appeared. And for a community like the Order of Seekers, which wanted to prevent exactly that, that was anything but good. The sword of Damocles was already hanging over their heads. Under no circumstances was it allowed to come out that something supernatural was going on here. They were running out of time. Kyle took a deeper breath. A soft clink sounded as he placed the teacup back on the saucer and folded his hands on the table in front of him. His gaze slid to the side, checking the room once furtively, then latched onto the other seeker.

"So." he began, and Benjamin raised his eyes. "What the hell was that last night?"

"What part exactly are you talking about?" asked Dr. Archer. Kyle was sure Archer knew exactly what he meant! It didn't escape Kyle's notice that the doctor shifted his sitting position, also lowering his cup and leaning back a little. The moss green eyes settled on the mage and sized him up almost lurkingly. Kyle felt as if he had just poked a bee's nest once with his stick and was now listening to the growing buzzing inside that was meant to be a warning to him. Most people noticed the vibration in the air, sensed the thunderstorm in the distance, and preferred to drop the subject before the first flash of lightning struck them. 

Awkwardly, Kyle's curiosity had been aroused. He was all too happy to stick his nose into the increasing wind, to feel for the change in the air, and knew before some others that it was going to thunder. Yet he did not retreat into protective undergrowth like a rabbit so fondly given to mages' sides. Instead, he reached out to the sky to be the first to catch a drop. Kyle wanted to get to the bottom of things. Even if he pricked his fingers trying.

That's why he curled his lips slightly, then raised his hand and pointed lightly to the spot between his shoulder and his chest.

"You kind of healed my injuries," Kyle said dryly, not taking his eyes off Dr. Archer. The doctor's gaze met his and neither of them averted it again. The moment dragged on. Then the doctor clicked his tongue and let out a long sigh.

"I guess I did," he said as if that explained everything.

Kyle wanted to jump across the table and grab him by the collar. This man was driving him crazy! Why did they have to pull everything out of his nose? Wasn't it time to sort out what had happened yesterday at the latest!!!?

"But you are not a magician. And I don't know any spell that could close wounds!" therefore Kyle stated just as polished. "You're trying to keep something from me." That this assumption was not at all to his liking could surely be guessed by his counterpart.

The doctor took a deep breath, stroked his fingers tensely through his hazel hair, and puffed out his cheeks, which were darkened by a slight shadow of a beard.

"I don't." he finally said, and impatiently Kyle wanted to shake him so he would continue. He was on the verge of losing his patience altogether.

"I can't tell you why I can, because I don't know." He finally admitted, drawing confusion like a slipped brushstroke on Kyle's features. The mage looked at him uncomprehendingly and Dr. Archer kept his voice deliberately low. "From what I have been told by the Order, this is not magic. I cannot simply conjure it, nor can I cast proper spells." The doctor pursed his lips and placed his hand on the tabletop. His fingers tapped a soundless rhythm on it, yet it testified that the subject made him uncomfortable. "Sometimes I ask for help. For me or someone else." at this, his gaze settled meaningfully on Kyle. "But it doesn't always work. Just sometimes," he added.

Kyle's chin slid a little higher as he regarded the doctor skeptically.

"It started during the war. I woke up alone in the desert sands after a battle. Miraculously, I had survived. The only one." his voice became rougher and broke off. "To this day, I don't know how that was possible." He raised his hand, brushed aside the scarf that hung around his shoulders, and tapped a talisman emblazoned on his shirt with his index finger. "Just before, I stumbled across this."

Kyle looked at the object with an inquiring gaze. Two outstretched wings of what looked roughly like a bird. Instead of a head, however, it bore a circle like a sun or a sphere. A few colored glass beads, faded and partially blinded, decorated the jewel that looked like a souvenir from Egypt.

"I couldn't explain it and still can't. But sometimes, when I pray or simply ask fervently for something, it is suddenly answered. Once, one of my wounds healed practically overnight. Another time, during a siege, a pack of jackals suddenly fell upon an enemy Sudanese but didn't even look at me." A muscle on the doctor's jaw twitched. His voice became more strained as he narrated. As if these memories were causing something in the otherwise tough man to become more and more cracked. Despair, now only fragmentarily hidden, of not knowing what had happened to one. The certainty of having changed, but not being able to name or grasp the reason or source.

'Hard shell, soft core,' Kyle thought. But far more interesting was the fact that Archer was able to effect something. So the doctor pleaded with some power and it happened? That sounded interesting.

"So you don't know what exactly you're doing? Or where it's coming from?"

In his nervousness, the Doctor clenched his hand into a fist again and again. Dr. Archer wanted to sigh. This case was stirring up things he wanted to leave buried. What had happened back in the desert had left more than an invisible scar on him. They were painful, agonizing memories that kept driving into his chest and stomach like fresh blades. But there was little value in working with Crowford while keeping from him what had happened yesterday. Crowford might be many things, though not as much of an idiot as he had first suspected, and they couldn't afford to open up any more chasms between them. There were secrets they would have far rather confided in anyone else about than the person to them. And yet the doctor decided to take a step toward the arrogant mage.

"No. I have no idea. And the Order has not been able to help me either. It doesn't seem to be an artifact with a magical effect. It is simply a talisman." Still, he had not given it away. Just the thought didn't feel right for some reason.

"Then you hope to find out with the Seekers' help." Kyle opined. It sounded more like a statement than a question.

The doctor nodded nonetheless. He saw the hesitation in Kyle's posture. By the way, the mage's fingertips twitched on the tabletop as he looked up at him - and The Doctor looked down at him from heavy lids in the same move. The magician was also hiding something. He just didn't know what it was yet. He couldn't put his finger on it, and Dr. Archer doubted that it was the right moment to confront Crowford. After all, everyone always had their own agenda somewhere they were pursuing. But for the moment he wanted to take up other points. Sometimes it was enough to take individual pieces of the puzzle and put them together piece by piece. You didn't always need the whole picture right away. And a person anyway. He rarely consisted of what you caught at first glance.

"How did you get into the forest there yesterday? What happened?" the doctor now asked the other seeker instead. It was time to turn the tables.

"I'm a mage," explained Kyle, knowing full well that the Doctor would have little use for that answer. "And a pretty good one at that," he added, and Kyle expected Dr. Archer to roll his eyes in a moment. "I've mastered shape-shifting. I turned into a bird, wanted to fly ahead and see if I could find out more."

"Instead, you fell at the feet of the critter," Dr. Archer finished and Kyle folded his arms in front of his chest. He hadn't missed the slightly smug tone in the doctor's voice. Briefly, therefore, he gave the doctor a meaningful, venomous look.

"Whatever dwells there has a strange effect on animals and the environment. While I was flying over the forest in my other form, my heart almost stopped. After my "landing" " he interrupted himself and fixed the doctor sternly, ".... the wolf then got me." he finished, forming the turn of the conversation to a topic that was much more significant.

"Do you have any idea what that beast was yesterday?" asked Dr. Archer but Kyle shook his head."An unusually large wolf. But I'm very sure by now that someone or something was controlling it and was also to blame for the other incidents."

Dr. Archer gave a thoughtful hum as his fingers ran over his chin and he replayed the sequences and events in his mind's eye. "Through the grave thing," trying not to bring up the missing body, ".... we have no more leads. The widow is gone and we can't question her."

"Baltimore said there was no connection between the victims..." A clack made him lift his eyes and finish his sentence before he could continue. Elly's heavy, sweet scent hit him in the face, pushing down his just-rising thoughts before they could take to the air. He was sure he knew that smell. Just what cursed plant was it? And why was it scratching at his nerves like a cat at a locked door?