Herbalists' Cache got me walking side to side

Rickon was the type to follow his nose when he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself next; and if he was being real honest with himself, then he almost always wasn't sure what to do with himself next. Still, he seemed to get by well enough— though this is still up for debate— and living by the mantra of "when in doubt, follow your snout" hadn't proved disastrous for him yet, so he would keep up the habit until it did.

That day, the thickening aroma of a looming weald drew him in. The vast array of plantlife was astounding to him, as a boy from the trenches who wasn't quite use to all the cushiony things that came out of soil. His pads were more used to hard gravel and steaming rock, not grass and tender loam; but he was appreciative of it all the same. Ahead a pale figure seemed to sniff at one such interesting and new thing for the spring chicken, and he hung back to call out to her. "Those any good?"