Qeya River heavy like a stone, waiting for the river to run

Her venture to the Herbalist's Cache is a success and she carries her rewards proudly, a slightly oversized bundle of herbs clenched beneath her teeth. Fat red poppies bloom from her jaw underneath an assortment of lavender, chamomile, goldenrod, marigolds and thymes. She does not indulge in what she wants yet (yet!), intent to hurry back to Silvertip to check on her patient's progress.

Instead she is slightly waylaid, her route thwarted by the pack just north of the Cache. Crossing the mountains would be quicker; more treacherous, too, and so she opts to curl the long way around, her pace untroubled. Thirst drives her toward the river. She lays the herbs down gently by the bank and drinks her fill, looking up only when the splashing of a stranger catches her attention. Something about the moment, the weather perhaps, or just the satisfaction of having gotten what she needs, compells her to smile and call out, "hello!" her voice litling against the current.