Stavanger Bay Rot

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In the days that followed her final return to Stavanger Bay, Reverie's world narrowed to a focus. Fever was a constant companion, but she did not allow herself to rest. No; her self-imposed punishment would not allow it. Daily she searched for a cure.
She clung as tightly to @Blossom as she did to this slim hope. Morning to night she was by her daughter's side, and perhaps there was some spite in this; after all, this kept @Lestan from ignoring her for their daughter the way he seemed to always want to, at least entirely. She was warm with her husband, and reminded him often that she loved him, but did not seek more of his touch than he was willing to give. The only evidence of her heartbreak came at night, a quiet ritual of crying herself to sleep. She tried not to disturb him. This was her burden to bear, after all.
On this morning Reverie had just returned to the den from another excursion with Blossom, bearing fresh herbs. She wasted no time in trying them, clinging to the increasingly-vague memories of her training as a healer. The effect was nearly immediate. Within minutes she found herself rushing from the den, gagging and then vomiting the contents of her stomach into the sand. She told herself that she would not cry.

Blossom hadn’t noticed anything wrong, but she was growing into a wolf who didn’t particularly pay attention to her surroundings. Multiple times she had to be turned from the sea before she started walking into it, following the glistening wings of a dragonfly or the distant shine of fish scales.

Her mother ate the leaves, then ran this day. The girl stared after her back, confused.

Mama?

She leaned out of the den, staring at the shivering back of her mother. She blinked a few times, ears starting to fold back.

…mama? Okay? Blossom called, starting to stumble forward.

Oh; oh no. Reverie summoned every ounce of willpower available to her, and managed to still the painful contractions of her throat. She wiped her mouth, took a breath to steady herself, and turned to Blossom with a weak smile.
I'm okay, don't worry, sunshine, She resisted the urge to kiss her on the forehead, aware of the acidic taint to her breath. It's just - well, sometimes, when you take medicine, it doesn't feel very good at first. But in the end it helps. Sometimes; Reverie masked her own cynicism in this regard, because she did not want her daughter to grow up as fearful as she had. She did not want Blossom to be like her.
Reverie beckoned for her daughter to follow, and led her with a gentle touch to where she kept a bit of mint for situations such as this one. But look, She said softly. This is mint, and it's perfectly good. It tastes good, too. Would you like to try it?

Blossom, in all of her innocence and simple, airheaded joy, was immediately settled by her mother’s words. Had she been a bit older, perhaps she would have caught the discrepancies (or, more realistically, she would have bulldozed right over them). As it was, she accepted the words as fact, and went trundling after her mother with several happy waves of her tail.

Mehint? She tried, sounding the word out in her mouth before she would repeat it over and over again internally.

Want to try. Blossom immediately went to the leaves to pull one into her questing mouth, beginning to chew on it. The shock of wintergreen flavor made her pause, her nose wrinkling in an involuntary reaction, before she shivered all over.

Bbbbrrr!

There was something soothing about her presence, something that reminded Reverie very much of how Lestan had once made her feel. It was different, of course — but the sense of peace felt familiar all the same. She saw him in her more every day, especially as her eyes began to change to dual tones. The reminder was every bit as painful as she'd once dreaded it would be. For Blossom. Not me. Did he know what that really meant, when he said it?
Well, he would soon.
Reverie smiled softly at Blossom's reaction, taking two leaves for herself to mask the terrible scent on her breath. Now she leaned in to kiss her daughter on the forehead, delighting in the small gesture of affection so much that she couldn't help but pull her into a gentle embrace in the next moment. I love you, She murmured to her, recalling, as she always did, those first days. Blossom had been so small, so entirely dependent on her that it had scared her. It still scared her — and that, she supposed, was why living for Blossom felt so empty to her. There was no real companionship in this constant, driving sense of guilt and love and worry and pride and guilt and guilt and guilt.
She kissed her head again, released her. What do you think of mint, Blossom?