mental

Caedes drew close and knelt, brushing the snow away with a hardened paw pads to reveal the plant more fully. Its spiny seed pods and trumpet-shaped flowers were unmistakable. He examined the leaves, their shape and texture confirming his find. The jimson weed was a powerful plant, its uses in skilled hands both miraculous and lethal. And one of his favorites if used properly.

Carefully, he began to harvest the plant, taking only what was necessary and leaving enough for it to regrow. His mind wandered to the tales of his grandmother, of how such plants had turned the tides of battles and saved countless lives. He respected the plant, acknowledging its dual nature as both healer and poisoner. Just like him.

As he worked, the forest around him seemed to hold its breath, the usual sounds of wildlife subdued in the face of his silent diligence. The other wolves were out there, scattered through the trees, each on their own quest. He trusted them to bring back what was needed, to show the same care and precision he did now. They had to, if they wanted to keep their places within the Syndicate.

Once he had gathered enough, Caedes wrapped the jimson weed in a cloth, securing it carefully before placing it in his satchel. He stood, shaking the remaining snow from his fur and scanning the clearing one last time. Satisfied, he turned and began his trek back to the meeting place, his movements as sure and deliberate as ever.