Legacy had chosen to stay with her mother while Ardyn took his reprieve. Aurielle, now an elder, had remained in the pack’s old lands; she would need care, despite her being sound and healthy. Still, that didn’t mean Legacy didn’t take the time to explore the continents.

She’d made the swim to the Island on the coast south of the Plains and the Estuary, in search of plants to bring home, and now padded through the tropical undergrowth, ears twitching at the sounds of the native animals.

Finally, she spotted a good candidate; cinnamon. It was a warming plant, the bark having a biting flavor, as well as a few other uses. Smiling to herself, she twisted around and pulled a rib from her satchel.

The bone was sharpened into a blade on one edge, and it was this bone knife that she used to scrape bark from medicinal trees such as white willow and cherry.

She took it in her teeth and pressed it into place against the tree, then placed her paws on either side of her head, bracing the draw knife against the trunk and releasing her teeth.

She bent to work, scraping to loosen the outer bark before she could get to the inner bark that was the prize.

Missing. His adopted daughter was still missing. Víðarr could feel the ache in his ribs with each passing day. With the coming of spring and Tama's return, they had no further word. He and Cyanide hadn't seen her either. The knot in his stomach grew and tightened... though it was hard to pull the viking king from the mountain, he knew he needed to search for himself. Where had they taken her? Where had she gone? Each night, he prays the gods watch over her. Each day, he stays keen for any information, any news that could come his way. Though this was supposed to be a time for celebrating, Víðarr admits that he doesn't feel very... celebratory. If they hadn't seen her between Ashen and the Maw, then he'd need to start out farther than Ashen. Start farther, work outwards. That's what's pushed him as far as Silver Island. A sour mood hung about his shoulders as he dragged himself from the sea. Víðarr shook the saltwater from his coat, sending it flying in all directions. The mountain of a man is tired, but he can't stop. As soon as he catches his breath, he tips his head back and calls for his daughter. A call that starts deep in his chest, designed to carry. Nearly a roar, frankly. "Celeste!" Víðarr calls, beginning to move in farther from the beach. Where was his daughter? Where was anyone who'd seen his daughter? Fuck. "Víðarr"

The outer bark of the cinnamon tree curled away and dropped, and the healer smiled to herself, shifting her paws to the outer ends of the draw knife so her toes could curl around the ends of the handles as she carefully moved the knife back to the top of the fresh score in the bark and drew down again. She envied Ardyn for his dextrous forepaws.

The first curl of inner bark fell away in a fresh curl, releasing the cinnamon scent into the air. She’s just moved the drawknife up for a third scrape when a bellow from a long way off toward the shore rattled the trees, sending a few wild lemurs leaping away through the trees and irritated screeches of colorful parrots into the air.

Legacy twisted to peer toward the north, black browpoints furrowed into a frown. Whomever Celeste must be, she was either in a great deal of hot water with whoever that was, or it was a challenge to fight. Or they were concerned…

They were still a good distance away, whoever they were, so she turned back to her work, though she kept an ear twisted toward the north.