Restless

The yearling woke up with a start. His fur was on end, and his heart was racing, though he couldn't quite remember why. As soon as he woke up, he had no idea what he had dreamt about, but he swore he felt like his lungs had filled with water and his ears were roaring. The beginning of a migraine was already starting to pound in his head, but no matter how hard he tried to figure out why he kept having these feelings, it was to no avail. He knew about the flood. Had been told what had happened. But he couldn't remember any of it despite being a victim of it. He had gotten hit pretty hard on the head according to Grimoire, and he chalked that up to being the reason as to why he couldn't remember any of it. He coughed to try and rid his lungs of that feeling, but of course, nothing came of it. The roaring in his ears went away as quickly as it had started, but the migraine persisted.

Groaning, the yearling got up to rummage through his herbs for something to help, but it seemed he had gone too long in changing anything out, and now none of it was no good. He sighed heavily as he dug further to see if he had missed anything that might be good, but no luck. He had half a mind to ask his mother, but first, he wanted to clear out what he couldn't use anymore. If he had no use for any of it, then he might as well throw it away, right? As much as his migraine was bothering him, he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything else until he figured out exactly what he needed to restock.

With that in mind, he started to scrap together bundles of old, unusable herbs and placed them in a messy heap near the entrance so it'd be easier for him to just grab it all in one go and trash it. The more he went through his stores, however, the more he realized he had more than he thought. And unfortunately for him, nearly all of it was bad. He found a few here and there that were still good, but it didn't seem to be more than a pawful, and there was nothing that would help ease his pounding head. "Damn it..." He muttered as he continued to pull out rotten herbs.

Frowning, he moved over to the small jars of tinctures and poultices his mother had given him, realizing how much dust had covered the jars. How long had it been since he had touched these? How long had he been in a coma? He opened them up, and one quick sniff told him they were definitely no good. He flinched away from the god-awful smell before closing them back up and tossing them into the no-good pile. It looked like almost everything he had was bad. Which made him wonder how long they'd been there...or how long he had them for. Had it really been that long? He could swear they were only a week or two old...though maybe his perception of time was skewed ever since his incident. Oh well, there was no use in crying about it now. He'd have to just resupply with all new stuff.

Once he was sure he had everything he was going to throw out gathered, he rolled it all into part of a deer hide, tied it up, and took it out to dump beyond the border. He didn't know if anyone had a use for herbs that had gone bad, and he didn't really want to take the time to find out right now. His head was still pounding, and he was getting irritable the longer it went on...

Once he was beyond the border, he unfurled the deer hide and let the junk herbs drop onto the floor before he left to find replacements. If he remembered correctly, he'd be able to find something for the headache nearby, but whether or not it was in season or if it had fully grown was beyond him. He supposed he'd check anyway just in case. When he got to the spot he last remembered, however, he was disappointed to find the herb was just barely growing...definitely not mature enough let alone grown enough to be of any use yet.

Frustrated, he turned around and headed back toward his den, deciding then that maybe it was best to just ask his mom or someone else to see if they had anything that might help him. Migraines were common, right? Surely someone had something to help him. Or maybe eating something would help...he debated that option, too. But he wasn't really feeling hungry. The more he had to do and think about it, the angrier his migraine became and the more frustrated he got. But hey, at least his den was clear of useless plants...

WC: 834/800

"Speech!"