Oz felt an almighty chill run down his back, which was odd, considering the lack of organic tissue. The ragged gashed in his armor where his wings had sprouted burned and ached, and Oz felt the halberd, strapped to his back, give a sharp pull, in the direction in which they were walking.<br/>Celris stopped and stared at him curiously while his eyes flared an intense, pale yellow.<br/>She hesitantly prodded him, and felt a slight shock, whether it was static or caused from whatever illness was afflicting Oz now.<br/>He shook himself and muttered, "Mother...We need to hurry."<br/>Celris nodded, for once silent, and jogged alongside him as he strode forward with renewed intensity.<br/>She glanced at him and frowned, "I'm not going to need to worry about you turning back into 'Osbourne the HigherBreed' am I?"<br/>He didn't look down at her, but replied, after a thought, "No. As far as I know, I will not return to my previous mentality, especially seeing as I'm still imperfect and I've turned against my own."<br/>Her gaze turned sharp, "That wasn't what I meant and you know it."<br/>He did, but it was easier moving faster and keeping the Feral at a pace too fast to keep and talk.<br/>She'd meant could Mother control him? He didn't know, not for sure...but logic pointed to frightening possibilities.<br/><br/><br/>He'd unearthed himself halfway, unable to sleep after a few minutes of shifting in his burrow. He didn't know why, nor did he care. It felt good to stretch out the muscles, even though a small voice, one of alarm, told him that remaining hidden below ground, no matter how unnatural for his kind, was the wiser choice.<br/>Half his face was dominated by black splotches, and the other half by brown and orange. The overall effect was that it seemed his face had been run over by a vehichle.<br/>His grey eyes, the color remained grey only by the dominance of blue within the others, were just as dynamic as his pelt. The colors could be called green, blue, or even yellow, depending on which eye you looked at, and in which light.<br/>He stared in the direction the pair had gone, even though hours had passed. Even though their tracks were gone. His own jumbled memories couldn't even verify that they'd been there at all.<br/>His arms and waist were free, and now he dug around his cave, searching for the curve of wood, the thin, resilient metal string...<br/><span style="font-style: italic">Why?</span><br/>This thought stopped him cold.<br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-weight: bold">Why?</span></span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Yes, why?</span><br/>He looked about, lost. That one thought, that single act of foresight, of caution, or rationality, had derailed him.<br/>What was he doing? Why had he collapsed his nice warm burrow? Why were his hands curled around his weapon?<br/>As he stood there, eyes wide with confusion, the minutes turned into hours. He couldn't know, couldn't remember anything.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">Why?<br/>Why?</span>