Northstar Vale crocus

She had finished patting the scabs at her side with water—just as the other healer had recommended. Curiously, she studied the wound as best she could on herself—the scarring would be there, but she could only hope that otherwise, it would be no more than a sore ache of muscle from time to time when things had finally healed fully.

Tamar’s howl gave her pause, and she felt herself slump back down momentarily. There was a reluctance to seek the woman out—but, duty, of course, won, and on her way to the Morphe’s nursing den, Meadow stopped at her small herb cache, pulling some of the older milk thistle and grains to travel with. There was limited supply these months—but they would make do with what they had.

Her thoughts strayed once more to the garden Reyson had promised to build her—when their hopes had been high in Epoch, despite Akashingo’s shadow. Now, those hopes had been diminished from within her home, rather than from their neighbors.

When she came upon the home of the Arche and Morphe, she dropped her supplies closer to the den entrance, uttering a soft croon to announce her presence.