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It was a few days before you found yourself in need of fresh herbs again - plenty of time for you to have tried a plethora of different experiments in creating your cure, each one more frustrating than the last. As Ceres symptoms progressed (moving from a mild headache to coughing fits now), it was easier to tell if your attempts were working or not - and maddeningly, they were not. You could suppress the symptoms for a while, it seemed, but nothing you tried seemed to last more than a few hours, or make any headway in fighting back.

There had been some initiative in going and getting the books, it seemed, but ancient knowledge was only so much against a modern foe.

Still, when all the reading and the smell of the herbs gave you headaches, you would take breaks, indulging yourself in the sign language manual as a mental respite. Copying the symbols drawn in the book with your own hands took your mind off things, and soon enough you could recognize most of the letters in the alphabet. Longer phrases were another thing, but you were pleased with the progress you had made.

When the time came and you did run out of the herbs you had gathered, you were almost excited.

Giving Ceres something to hold them over while you were gone (you didn't want them breaking out into coughing fits when you weren't there to help), you left for the patch in the early morning light again, around the same time you had stumbled on it for the first time. This time, your knife rested in a basket - more space to carry cuttings back.

It was nice, letting the strip of fabric you were using as a mask fall around your neck, to breathe the morning air without obstruction for a moment. Of course, the fabric kept the silver death from getting into your own lungs, and you were grateful for it, but for a moment, without the weight of it resting on your nose, you could spare your thoughts from the disease for a moment.

You found the patch easily again, following the same growth that you had before until you heard the happy gurgle of the creek. Your steps slowing as the ground turned soft underneath them, you pushed through a few small trees, coming into the clearing proper.

The satyr was waiting there, sprawled out in the soft grass, his arms pillowed behind his head. It was clear from the matted brush that he had bedded down here for the night - you didn't blame him, the soft ground was probably quite comfortable.

He picked his head up when you stepped into the clearing, blinking up at you for a moment before he settled back down, lazily grinning and raising one hand in greeting.

"Hello." You returned, holding out your basket. "Is it alright that I've come back for more?"

The satyr nodded, gesturing vaguely around the area as if to say, 'take whatever you'd like'.

You shifted the basket to your other hand, unsheathing your knife and moving over to a clump of weatherwort bushes, sorting through the leaves for those that were just beginning to turn white at the edges. "Thank you." You said, pausing. "I also wanted to ask, what is your name? I know you can't speak it, but I learned some of the sign alphabet..." You trailed off, looking back to the satyr.

He sat up properly now, wide brown eyes looking up at you with something akin to surprise in them. Slowly, he began to sign letters, quick fingers finding each of the symbols easily. You caught the letters as quick as you could, piecing them together in your head.

C-A-L-L-A-H-A-N

"Callahan?" You repeated.

The satyr - Callahan - nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Callahan." You said it again with more certainty now, turning back to the bush that you were sorting through, clipping some of the leaves and depositing them into your basket. "I'm Y/N - I don't know if I ever introduced myself."

Movement behind you made you turn. You glanced behind you to see Callahan grinning, sprawled out on the ground again, spelling out the letters of your name in the air above him.

You smiled to yourself, turning back to the weatherwort and collecting a few more leaves. "I'm not perfect with the alphabet yet, and I haven't even started on phrases and words yet, but I have plans to, when time allows." You told him, moving from the weatherwort to collect more feverfew, cutting at the bottom of the stalk.

You caught Callahan's eye as you moved to the feverfew, and he raised an eyebrow, making that little questioning gesture with his hand.

"Well, I figured it was the nice thing to do." You said, slicing through a few clumps of feverfew and collecting them in your basket. "You've been so kind in letting me come here to use your patch, it's the least I could do to talk to you." You paused. "I figured we might be friends, you and I, anyway."

You glanced up to meet Callahan's eyes again to find him still looking at you. He blinked once, and nodded, bringing his hands up to link them together - a connecting gesture - as he smiled.

"It'll take me some time." You said. "But I really do want to be able to talk to you."

It was true - you felt like you owed it to him, if you were going to continue to use his herbal patch, and you did have questions. You were curious as to how he had planted it all, and why he had taken it upon himself - perhaps he was also a healer of some kind. You wanted to know if he lived alone, or if there were more satyrs in this wood, just out of sight.

You wanted to be able to talk to him, when you came to collect your herbs. It would be nice to have a friend, especially in a time like this.

TELOS TOU KOSMOU // Callahan X ReaderWhere stories live. Discover now