The femme planned to explore a wee bit for the day. The kindness of her new pack, and the closeness they were gaining surprised her greatly. She needed some time to think, so she padded off into the deep woods.
Her thoughts were jumbled. Unorganized and fretfful. She wondered what would happen if famine would take over the valley, or if pups would be conceived this season. In a way unusual to her normal control, Semira let her thoughts be.
She padded through the brush, her cinnamon coat sliding past branches and ferns with ease and silence. The moss underfoot was comforting to her paws, which until recently, had been use to the sharp rocks of the cliff faces she wandered.
A female voice made Semira pause her lengthy stride. Did she want to converse? The whole point had been to get away to think. She shrugged, pulling her heavy form through the foliage and towards the song. "Hello?" She asked the femme, who's gaze was intensely searching the ground. "Have you lost something?" She stepped towards the other more compact wolf, her concern growing.
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This area must have been particularly fertile or something, because the area was carpeted with different types of herbs and small, flowering plants and tender spring roots even for the earliness of the season. The area of the grove within which she snuffled was particularly thick, as the trees grew far from one another and allowed the underbrush to grow plush and entangled in itself. Kitsch used her maw to delicately push through the thickets, searching for the white flowers and seed pods that West’s lore foretold when she heard the voice.
It was loud and distinctly feminine, so Kitsch’s sculpted head shot up and her foamy gaze settled upon a single women, padding towards her and offering assistance. Having traveled quite a distance to reach this cache, the pearl did not fancy the idea of returning to Teaghlaigh empty handed. With that in mind, Kitsch gave a rather uncharacteristic greeting for a girl of her maturity: she gave a bark and swung her tail low in a sign of welcome.
“Hey, yeah! Well, I’m looking for something but it isn’t lost.” Kitsch’s voice came loud as she stepped towards the strange vagabond, meeting her halfway. Then, in a normal tone of voice “I just haven’t found it yet.”
Without missing a beat, Kitsch continued on her small, impromptu diatribe. “It’s a plant. It’s tall, with a seed pod… likes fields.” the pearl recited the only information she knew about the plant, as if it was a mantra — she was loathe to forget the only caretaking lesson she ever had. “It’s called poppy?” Kitsch questioned, hoping everyone knew the plant by the same name. Perhaps this woman had heard of it?
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She paused as the woman spoke, listening intently as she described the plant she desired. The other woman was a slight animal, with odd markings resting upon her brow. The woman seemed quite distracted to Semira, and it would be rude to bother her. She nearly left before the question was asked.
Poppy, it was not uncommon for the area. She remembered seeing some a few days back, the white flowers blooming along with their more well-known red sisters. What was that for again? She thought briefly before remembering the plant from childhood. Oh..the one γιαγιά use to give us when we were in pain...or were having a hard time sleeping. Semira then pulled herself from her thoughts as she raised her creamy maw to speak. “I haven’t seen any along my path today, only a while ago. But if you like I could help you search for it?” She smiled gently at the other woman, not wishing to intrude. Semira needed something to do though, even if it was helping a stranger.
She tilted her head after the question, and then glanced up at the flourishing greenery around her. Spring was washing over the area with full force. Cloverleaves peaked out between her claws, which sunk into the fluffy moss of the undergrowth. “If it were anywhere, it would absolutely be here.” She grinned at the other wolf again.
γιαγιά is greek for 'Grandma' <3
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Kitsch was glad that the sandy woman did not immediate deny her assistance. Better than simply accepting, the stranger actually knew what she was talking about! Kitsch did not truly understand the pandemic popularity of such a plant, so she felt like quite the botanist at the moment — and to know the medicinal properties of such? Oh, what a good little caretaker she was! Kitsch puffed out the gamine curve of her chest, quite proud of herself — and her inner monologue mocked her packman Lia for assuming she couldn’t [wouldn’t?] earn a trade.
The stranger hadn’t seen any poppy around, but knew where to find it. “That’s great. I’m Kitsch.” Kitsch offered blithely, rolling her remind shoulders as if to say shall we get to it, then? Then the strange duo unceremoniously began their sweep of the cache. Kitsch pranced several steps behind Semira, eyes sweeping the landscape for any sign of that familiar stalk and distinctive seed pod — but saw none. Perhaps it was still too early in the season? But for some reason Kitsch implicitly trusted this [only slightly older] woman, so if Semira said they were around here somewhere, then it was around here somewhere. If it wasn’t, there were the other options for pain management and soothing — what were they? Kitsch thought hard for a moment before West’s mantra rushed back to her: Willow trees, but the inner bark was hard to get to. Valerian root, with that small, white flowers. To Kitsch, one was as good as the next for overcoming the pains of pup-having, so she searched for them all.
Perhaps this woman had even more information about caregiving that she could glean? Kitsch smiled coyly up at Semira without even checking to see if she was looking. Whatever Semira know, Kitsch wanted to know. Kitsch might be blasé from the day to day, but Kitsch with a mission in her heart was a sight to behold — and right now, Kitsch's mission was to prove her worth to Teaghlaigh. So, she chirped to her friend “What do yah like to do?”
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Sorry for the tiny, late post!
Knowing the other fae would follow, she began to scour the land. Her eyes pinned to the forest floor, and her snout scenting the herb laden ground for the hazy notes of warm dry earth and flowers that would lead her to the seed pod her companion searched for. She knew without a doubt there would be some here, it was just whether or not they would locate it.
At Kitsch's question her rapid pace faltered. When she spoke, it came out distracted,
"Ah well, I am a hunter. I only know things like poppy and such from needing things to handle my injuries. I come across many things on my hunts." She looked to the other femme for understanding. She was not a fellow botanist, as Kitsch seemed to be, but she had a respect for the trade.
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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.
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