No rest for the Wicked

Summer was in full power, and the herb garden was in a riot of greens and flowers. The Swirl-painted healer tended to it with the same care and tenderness she’d given her children. She pulled weeds delicately from the soil, flipping them toward the compost heap over the low stone fence she’d planned out and Ardyn, with his paws, had built.

She’d heard the Mist return, and her kit was set aside by the garden entry, ready to go once the last few weeds were sent to the compost to become nutrient-rich soil.

As she stepped from the garden, she swiped her paws through a thick bison hide laid outside the entrance. The thick, curly hair of the hump was a decent paw-cleaner.

Then she picked up her kit and set off at a brisk trot toward the man’s den. As she drew close, her sky-blue eyes took in the dust hanging in the air and the hides laid out in the summer sun, and a faint smile touched her features as she slipped the kit off to set on the ground, flipping the cover as she took a seat to the side.

Leaning forward to peer into the opening, from which sounds of activity emitted, she called down, “Long trip?”

There was a tone of amusement coloring her accented words.

She pulled a set of clay pots from the kit and set them at her paws, ears perked to catch any response he might offer.

She’d been one of those who kept the den tidy in his absence, and some of what had come out of the furs and hides had been an herbal blend to repel insects and parasites. It was time for it to be shaken out, but she’d brought a few sachets along.

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Labhair an Sean-Teanga." ---- "Hear" ---- Think