tell me

Lúta crumbled the dried chamomile flowers carefully with her paw. She worked the larger pieces down into smaller pieces on the scrap of hide until she was satisfied that they were crumbled well. She wanted good sized pieces and not powder. Rhythm was on board with starting a fire and sent her bird to fetch flint and steel. Her ears perked up as she wondered what steel was. She was familiar with flint.

Lúta swiftly got to her feet. "I can help! There are some dried branches about four feet behind you and a little to your left." Her initial instinct was to grab them herself but she didn't want to baby the older woman. "I see some over here by me." She approached the dead sapling that was laying on its side. It was partially burnt in some places. Probably from the volcano. Lúta worked to break it into smaller pieces by stomping and chewing at the weakened burnt areas. She wrinkled her nose. It tasted terrible!