Zami listened quietly as Mythene recounted what had happened, his expression growing increasingly dour as she went on. His primary concern was regarding the fact that, when he thought about it, he could recall everything with pristine clarity. He could see himself wreaking havoc on the wildlife of Stranglethorn with reckless abandon. Yet he couldn't remember his thoughts of the entire time. It was as though he was a captive inside his own body, and someone else had been doing the thinking for him.

"And that's when I realized it," Mythene continued, "It was just like when my brother lost control."

Zami nodded a little, unsure how to respond, and just stared down at his bloodstained hands instead. Mythene went to speak but stopped herself upon seeing his gaze. She furrowed her brow for a moment before reaching out, setting her hand atop his.

"Don't blame yourself, thero'shan," She said firmly, "If anything, the fault is mine."

Zami glanced up at her, chuckling tiredly.

"I'm gonna need to start wearin' a mask round you, woman," He sighed, knowing she must've read his thoughts from his expression.

Mythene just gave him a slight smile, squeezing his hand supportively. Then she pulled it away, and Zami bit back the instinct to protest. Yet before he could even say anything, Mythene pulled out her waterskin and a lavender handkerchief.

"Let's get that blood off," She said quietly, soaking the handkerchief.

She grasped one of his wrists, pulling his hand into her lap, and gently wiped away the dried blood. Zami glanced aside, feeling his face heat up slightly, despite his conscious mind trying to dissuade such. It was nothing more than a pragmatic effort, he reminded himself. Her gentleness was probably just in case he happened to be injured. Nevermind that he would've regenerated by now. It was certainly not an intentionally tender gesture. Certainly not.

"Other hand," Mythene commanded, relinquishing her grip of the now-clean hand.

Zami obediently swapped one hand for the other, clearing his throat quietly. He tried to just clear his mind, and ignore the fact that he and Mythene were essentially holding hands. His face heated up a little more, and he could tell he wasn't doing a good job of it. Seeing that ignoring the situation was a futile effort, his eye moved over to watch her work. That way he'd be able to pull his hand back as soon as possible.

He did just that once the last blood was wiped away with such a haste that an outside observer might've thought her touch physically burned him. Zami was embarrassed by the blatant hastiness, but if Mythene thought anything of it, she didn't show it. Instead she just rinsed the blood away from the handkerchief, calmly squeezing out the excess water.

Zami didn't want to seem ungrateful for her kindness, pragmatic in nature or otherwise, and went to voice his thanks but Mythene turned to him first and leaned forward. Zami froze, feeling his heart skip a beat as her face drew closer to his, and her hand moved up to his cheek. Before he knew what was happening, she reached up and wiped at his mouth with the damp handkerchief.

That was when Zami realized, retroactively, that he must've had blood on his face too. He couldn't help frowning, and by the way Mythene glanced up at him briefly right after, he figured she probably already knew what he was thinking. She didn't say anything, however, and simply continued to clean his face.

Zami usually hated being touched, especially his face, but this was the second time now that he'd freely let Mythene do just that. Even if she was doing it solely for practical reasons, her touch was so gentle that Zami found it wasn't unpleasant at all, especially when compared to how his mother had done it. She would always grasp him by the tusk, rubbing a rough rag all over his face and blocking his ability to breathe. By comparison, Mythene was practically caressing him.

"You may not remember," Mythene began suddenly, "But when I found you, you were attacking a human. A mage, I believe."

Zami blinked, his thoughts coming back to focus. He went to respond, but was unsure what he wanted to even say. Sorry, maybe?

"I'm glad I got here in time," Mythene said quietly, "If you had killed her, I would've been honorbound to…"

She trailed off a moment, before shaking her head slightly.

"You see, once a feral shapeshifter becomes a maneater, they can never fully regain themselves. Not as they once were," She explained, "The Cenarion Circle has tried, several times, to recover such druids but they are always lost. Maddened, their minds forever overtaken by their animalistic urges."

Zami glanced down, knowing what she was getting at. If he'd crossed that line, she would've had to kill him without hesitation. Whether his mind was still there or not.

"It isn't very common," She continued, "But I suppose that is because most new druids first shapeshift under the close guidance of their teachers."

Mythene's expression darkened and Zami found himself able to truly understand what she was thinking for the first time. She went to pull away but he quickly brought his hand up over hers, trapping her with the bloody handkerchief pressed up against his cheek.

"If I don't get to blame myself, then you don't neither," He frowned, "Teacher or not."

Mythene frowned back, but her arm slackened a bit, her efforts to pull away extinguished. Zami gave her hand a supportive squeeze, echoing the gesture she'd done earlier. Her glowing white gaze met his, and Zami felt himself take a sharp breath. The two of them just stared at each other a moment, her with her hand on his cheek, and him holding her hand there. It was only in that moment Zami noticed how close her face really was. Depth perception wasn't his area of expertise, after all, but even so. In fact, it almost seemed like she was getting even closer. Much more and they'd be…

A sudden crashing in the nearby trees made the both of them jump away from each other, shocked and panicked and already in a deep state of denial. Zami barely had enough time to tear his gaze away from Mythene before he was tackled. Aka dove headfirst into his stomach, knocking out the breath he'd been holding. Taking another breath was impossible, as a familiar Sin'dorei arm hugged around his throat. Zeni latched onto his newly-cleaned face, quickly replacing the cleaned blood as its thorns dug deep. The feeling in his left leg went numb, too, as a certain sniveling goblin hugged him in a vice grip and wiped his nose against him.

And as uncomfortable as it all was, Zami couldn't help but grin.