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Voodoo awoke with a groan. He was soaking wet; a side effect of the rain that was bucketing down on him. He looked around; trying to find anything that would give him an indication of where he was. Nothing. He had no idea where he was or what he was doing here. But something.. Something in the back of his mind told him to stand and start walking.

Voodoo had a strange desire to search for something; pieces of him that were missing. The only problem was that he had no idea what was missing. Try as he might he could not bring up a single memory.

For days he traveled; without covering a lot of ground. The tree on his back made that hard. He studied the items hanging from it; none held a clue to what he was looking for, but they did give him his name. Voodoo. They also gave him a clue as to who he was. Looking at the items, he knew things he could do with them. Potions, charms and curses; for good and evil.

But none of this meant nothing. Anyone else would have called his an amazing break through. But he was still incomplete. Still missing those pieces; those large pieces that made him ache with longing and despair.

It wasn't long before Voodoo realized traveling non-stop would impossible. He had made it to the swamps and set up camp there, practicing voodoo magic in hopes it would return his memories. He tried divination, memory and lost and found spells, charms and hexes. Nothing gave him any answers.

For some reason, when he practiced voodoo he felt guilty. It was so terrible that he could not do it for long. It was as if his voodoo had caused something terrible but he couldn't remember what.

A family passed through his lands one day. He watched them from the shadows, carefully hidden away. He was jealous of them; they seemed to know everything about themselves. They had everything they needed. He made a note to send a curse their way later that night.

That night the wind howled and Voodoo listened to it, unable to sleep. It sounded as if it was a woman singing. He felt like he knew the song but he did not know the lyrics and if he tried to listen closely and carefully; the woman's voice disappeared and the wind's howl would return.

Always close, always far.

Voodoo awoke in the middle of night screaming. He almost felt glad he was alone; but then the aching started again and he longed for those missing pieces to be found. A nightmare; the same one. He could remember the nightmare; what happens in it, but never the faces. He saw them in his dreams but when he awoke they were gone.

It was probably a good thing. The faces.. bruised, beaten and bloody. One of them lifeless; the other showing the break in the person that would never be repaired.

The blood.. So much blood. The first few nights he had the nightmare he woke up and threw up. One day he didn't eat; hoping it would help. It didn't; he simply threw up bile or wretched in agony. Eventually he got used to the faces and was able to keep his food down. They weren't any less terrifying, however.

Was this why he felt guilty? Had he hurt those in the dream? He shuddered. He must be a monster if he could do such a thing..

Voodoo had taken up walking again. The days dragged on and he barely remembered how many had passed. It was all a blur; one long blur of him walking until his legs ached and threatened to give way. He'd stop for a moment and press on until he collapsed; passing out wherever he landed.

A crow had been following him for a while now. He can hear her call; always after him, always calling for him. He doesn't answer. Why should she be given what she is looking for when he is destined to wander forever?

Damn them all. Damn all those who know what they need. Damn all those who already have it all. Damn whoever placed this curse upon him.

Voodoo finally gave into the crow's call on the seventh day. She perched in his branches and he gave her a name that had been ringing in his mind since he awoke.

Lydia.

What meaning it had, he had no idea. She seemed pleased enough with it and stopped her bothersome cawing, which he was thankful of. The days seemed a little less long with Lydia accompanying him. That was a familiar feeling - like he'd felt the same relief a long time ago.

Voodoo had given up his search for the time being. His hooves were bloodied, his back ached and he was exhausted physically and mentally. Sleep seduced him, only to fill his head with twisted nightmares that had him screaming himself awake. Eventually he stopped playing sleep's wicked game.

Eyes now bloodshot from lack of sleep, Voodoo was tired of looking without finding a single thing. He was beginning to think himself mad for even trying without any real proof that anything ever existed. Who else would do such a thing but a mad man? Who else would put themselves through such torture without knowing why.

Sometimes, he thought it was a curse. That he was doomed to wander for ever, compelled to keep searching no matter what, without knowing what it was he was searching for. Without ever finding it. Those were his darkest moments. He cursed the women in his nightmares, swore if he ever found them he would make the nightmares a reality.

But, as always, the guilt and fear took over and those threats were always empty, swallowed up by sobs that wracked his body as the images played over and over in his mind; faces always questioning him. 'Why?' And as always he had no answer. No anything. Just himself and those that haunted him.

Lydia always kept silent; that he was glad of. She never once asked what he was doing or what woke him up at night. But somehow, her being there comforted Voodoo. Whenever he woke up, he was relieved by the fact that she was still perched in a tree beside him. Always she tilted her head and looked at him, never saying a word, but a silent 'are you okay' was implied. He simply nodded and turned away from her. This repeated every night, without fail.