He see sit then - a wolf, or so his pain-hazed mind tells him. A normal horse might have been afraid, but Öde smiles. "So it is you," he mumbles to Oblivion. Yet, Oblivion doesn't speak, but rather whines and crawls. Even in his foggy state, Öde can't believe the DemonKing would lower himself to such a state. Was it a sign that Öde had superseded him? No he thought roughly, squashing that faint hope. I've done nothing deserving of such, came the more honest, rationale thought. Grand as the DemonKing was to him, Öde's greed was not above dethroning him - but only if he was worthy. Some day he would be, but that day was not today. He wasn't a child any more thinking he would wake up with a crowned head and force clouds to kneel.

There was something else happening here.

He hears his voice then, and as much as he wills it to be the sound of his god, even of his mother, the echo it leaves in his mind is decidedly neither of them. It's familiar, but so long ago he doesn't remember it. Öde squints through the light, seeing movement. She comes into his focus as her words continue, and there's a brief moment of disappointment, swiftly followed by relief. No Oblivion, not October, but no one else bad either. If he must be found int his moment of weakness, then at least it's by the filly from the boat.

The sight of her, the smell of her, the sound of her all combine to strengthen his memory. "Vitani," he mutters with a wheeze as the recognition settles into place. He would never forget a name, such was the legacy of a memory. Names were important, they were everything. The wolf, he now saw clearly, was her hellhound. He frowned, at himself, for being so willing to sink into false illusions. She whispers something nearly inaudible, and in his state of disrepair he doesn't catch it, but he still hears the earlier questions and with noticeable raggedness he answers.

"Nothing has happened," he clarified like an ass, "because it already had happened." He must have been spending too much time with gods, speaking so cryptically. "Just the cost of carelessness, a reminder of my mortality lest I forget it... nothing to be done but to endure the night." He grunted as he shifted, sweating in the creases of his body as pain chewed on his nerves. "Herbs," he croaked after a moment, "that numb and heal. They help." He couldn't use a healer, the magic useless on him, but plants and their natural tendencies were always nice. He had a stash at home, but nothing close enough for this night. Maybe he needed to invest in a murse...

"Talk to me," he went on after a moment, hoping she might distract him from thinking about all his aches. It could equally prove annoying, but after spending so many nights like this alone, he wondered if her presence might prove helpful. "Why are you down here?"