mental

The wolves dispersed, each heading in different directions, their eyes scanning the landscape for any hint of flora amidst the frost and snow. Caedes watched them go, a mixture of cool detachment and stern expectation in his gaze.

He too, then, rose and moved into the wilderness. His senses were sharp, every sound and scent filtering through his mind with precision. The forest, with its whispering pines and the ever-present scent of frost, was familiar to him. But, the search for his chosen quarry would test even his seasoned skills. But it was still possible so early into the season.

Caedes moved with purpose, his massive frame navigating the underbrush with surprising grace. His thoughts drifted to the healers. They would need to prove themselves worthy, to show that they could distinguish between the beneficial and the deadly, to recognize the subtle signs that marked the presence of a viable herb.

The sun arced slowly across the sky, and Caedes found himself in a clearing, the ground slightly softer underfoot. He paused, his nostrils flaring as he caught a faint, distinctive scent. His eyes narrowed, scanning the area until they landed on a cluster of pale, greenish leaves partially buried under the snow. Jimson Weed.