Gathering Close

Another long trek northward found Legacy slipping into the curtains of willows, eyes on the lookout for plants to bring home, both for gardening and for preparation for medicines. Naturally, she gravitated to the most obvious option, stepping up to a willow and examining it. The plains wouldn’t be a good place to plant a cutting, and there were willows in the Estuary, but since she was here, she might as well gather a few scraps of willow bark to bolster her stocks.

Legacy drew her drawknife from her pack and maneuvered it into place on the tree’s trunk, then went to scraping, careful not to scar the tree too badly.

Under her breath, she was humming an old Nomad ditty her mother particularly liked, something about a prairie chicken and a hare making a bet. The hare won, but at the cost of a broken leg, and the prairie hen had to doctor him up while scolding him with a peck to the noggin. It was a silly little nonsense song that Legacy had loved, growing up, and her half-siblings had adored it.