Nighttime was especially cruel for the doctor. In the impermeable darkness outside his den, he could perceive only faint suggestions of things.

And that was what his brain did: it suggested.

It suggested, and then those suggestions became impossible truth.

It was one of those nights where Setebos simply couldn't sleep, and the relaxing concoction that he brewed from chamomile and lavender did little to soothe his restless thoughts. It eventually became a matter of how long he could remain in one place until he either bored himself to unconsciousness or let his wandering mind tire itself out. Neither option was particularly appealing to him at that moment. He was as tired of the solutions as he was with the problems, and currently, everything felt so very tiring.

In a fit of pique, Setebos glared at the interior of his den; all the little marks and characteristics that distinguished the dwelling as his own. All the little things that so vexed him: the mangled roots of stockpiled milk thistle that, in pitch darkness, resembled groping claws, or the overhanging bundles of chamomile that transformed into faces leering from above. Setebos left his den and departed into the darkness that he feared, maybe as an ill-considered attempt to spite his own nightmares.

The deeper he ventured into the forest, the more he started to doubt his confrontational approach. He bristled at every snapping branch and every looming tree. He walked with his hackles up. Eventually he settled for a certain numb blindness; that by keeping his head down and his peripherals blocked out, he could focus on a linear path, and not be distracted by outside stimuli.

That backfired, of course, when he passed the faintest flicker of firelight, just barely enough to draw his attention. It was originating from within a bush, streaming between the leaves. That, he knew, was not a figment of his imagination. Setebos at first thought it to be a firefly nest. But it wasn't time for them to emerge, was it? Setebos pushed through the foliage, inquisitive, and was greeted not with a cluster of insects like he expected, but something far more curious -- what appeared to be a young wolf curled in on herself, but that light, it was radiating from a single crooked antler protruding brokenly from her crown.

Setebos made sure not to gawk. He suddenly felt like an imbecile, having intruded on her space. If she was an adult, he would have left immediately, but because she was still just a child, her solemn demeanor concerned him, and he inquired further. "Hey," Setebos said, gently, "Are you alright?"