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He took a step into the woods, turning back to his father's neutral face. "You're sure?" he says and Stiles nods. He turns back to the forest and walks until he can barely see daylight anymore, then walks some more. The clearing he's let out into is dappled with light, though the tree canopy looks to Stiles too dense to let anything through. He blinks as a spot of light flashes over his face and shakes his head.
The moss here is springy. It covers the ground beyond the edges of the trees as far as he can see. It's ethereal. Unreal like a scene from a dream, had the dream included the scent of rotting leaves and wet earth.
Stiles sits on the conveniently placed log towards one edge of the clearing. He breathes in, and out, just as Deaton had coached. he sat for what felt like hours, the sun never changing position above the trees. He tried to empty his mind, thinking of nothing but his magic, his life, his soul.
Minutes felt like hours, until the meditation caught and suddenly they felt like years. Time stretched and twisted, and something snagged at the back of Stiles' mind. Deaton had said he'd know when it was time. Know it instinctively.
A bird whistled somewhere in the trees, and Stiles noticed it as the first sound he'd heard in a while, besides his own breathing and the beat of his heart. It whistled again a short note, then a longer one. It seemed to be coming closer and Stiles shifted on his seat, curious and excited. One last short whistle, before a long trill cut off short. The forest went silent again, and Stiles felt a wrenching in his stomach.
Something must have gone wrong, something must be wrong with him. Even his own Familiar didn't want to be near him, had run off at the sight of him. There was a brush of movement at the edge of the trees directly across from him and Stiles watched it so hard he felt his eyes might pop out.
A quick movement followed by the flick of a tail, and Stiles was looking at a black fox. He stood slowly. The magic of the area should have shielded it from any natural animals, and since he'd felt the things Deaton had told him to expect, he guessed this was his. His familiar, his partner in magic and life.
The fox grinned at Stiles and he smiled back for a moment, before noticing the foxes expression was somehow wrong. It creeped up to him, as he shuffled closer to it and saw it's face was something more of a horror mask.
The grimace on the fox's face twitched and Stiles was wholy confused.
"Are you-" he started, kneeling before the animal. "Are you my soul?"