[she doesn't know that the world is turning just for her]

skill: herbalist

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Nothing could detract Euphemia from her task, except for the voice that entered her mind, the images that fill her vision, and the feels of duplicity that entered her being.

When it all left her empty once more, before her she found a root of the aforementioned blue turtlehead. It was small, nothing more than a nub, which was shocking when compared with the verdant wildflower field. Surrounded by such exotics, Euphemia suddenly felt at-risk, as if she held a great secret between her paws, and it was slowly eeking out between her toes. The maiden was well-enough-versed in farming to know that not every bulb would take. Who would know if the one she held would germinate?

What if one of her sisters or brothers died because she couldn’t make it take root?

Euphemia kept her face smooth, lifting her visage to look at the one who spoke. A dark male, about the same size as she, and distinctly not of the north. He asked the small group who gathered a simple question, but the silver woman was more overtaken with the realization of how many had gathered here, exactly how many souls held the knowledge of this holy gift. She smelled the air, and scented the cohesive vapors of their group on each one of them.

All, except for one.

Yes, Euphemia breathed, affirming what the unknown dark man had asserted. She didn’t know if he could hear her when she spoke so softly, so the tiny shewolf lifted her head and neck, and spoke from her chest. We must propagate what we have, and quickly. Was this obvious information? Certainly, everyone was thinking the same thing.

If you are in need, she offered, before she could stop herself. I offer Frostfrang Vale for its fecundity. Then her gold gaze lay right upon Iokav, the only one who didn’t smell of a pack, either strange or familiar.

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