Herbalists' Cache currach

[table width=85%][tr][td]

For a women Kitsch had just found and befriended, Semira was quite dedicated to her task. She took to it with gusto, her seemingly experienced eyes probing their landscape for any sight of their target flora. Kitsch kept pace with the older shewolf and kept any eye out for valerian flowers or willow trees as well, but wasn’t totally focused — i mean, Semira was doing such good job and everything.  Padding along beside her, the girl questioned “Hunt?” when her friend made mention of her skill. Kitsch had never known a hunter before, since it was a grisly task made for men and poor people — the task was a world apart of Kitsch’s [a world which had been so cotton candy sweet up until recent developments].  Sometimes her father would go on a hunt and it would be a grand affair; but he was a king after all, so they belabored the time he spent away and constantly worried for his wellbeing. Kitsch knitted her ink brushed brows towards each other in consternation. “That’s so…” she continued in a hushed voice “Dangerous. I don’t know if I could ever do that.” 

To Kitsch, Semira now seemed like a big amazonian warrior woman — very unlike the dainty ingenues of her courtly life. It fascinated the girl and she parted her lips to speak once more on the subject, but she never did. It was then that a carpet of freestanding, proud yellow flowers came into view as they rounded the trunk of a tree. Intrigued, Kitsch motioned to Semira with a flick of the chin to follow and she pulled up to the colorful abundance. The girl learned her muzzle down and needled at several of the flowers, dark nares tickling from the pollen within. They always said that smell was the sense most intimately connected with memory and there was nothing truer when it came to Kitsch. The herbal, earthy scent of the flowers immediately conjured up memories of her old nurse, who was a fan of the herb and kept a store of such yellow flowers in her caches for Kitsch’s various youthful bumps and bruises. ”Arnica…? the girl questioned rhetorically, looking up to Semira for validation. Of course, Semira already admitted to being nothing of a botanist or healer, but Kitsch felt compelled to ask anyways. ”Does one this look familiar to you, like, from your hunts?" Then, distracted with a sudden strike of curiosity, she tacked on "What kind of injuries have you had?" It was a strangely forward question for a relative stranger, but Kitsch had always been interested in those sorts of things.

[/td][/tr][/table]