Hushed Willows In a long black veil she cries over my bones.

Octavia did not recognize this subordinate. They all looked very much alike in the dark of the cave, but even in the light of day she would not have known Grace. It was nobodys fault but her own, really. She could have been more friendly with the wolves of the maplewood when she was a part of it, but Tavi had always been so self involved — she still was — and getting to know other women had never really been an interest. It didn't matter now.

The girl scampered backwards as if she had been bitten, and Octavia couldn't help but snort softly at the anxiety which she herself had caused. Not all wolves were spineless, but she wondered if they were the type that Warbone coveted; thus far, Octavia wasn't impressed. She quirked a brow at the muttered words of the girl, not understanding what borage meant. She dipped her nose to casually sniff at the piled leaves and could not discern any special qualities. They smelled dry, and they smelled green, like grass.

It'll help your milk flow, the girl explained, I-I have more if you need it. As Tavi looked away from the offering, she saw that the girl wasn't looking at her. She was looking at the wall or the floor, or anywhere that wasn't the Alpha woman's face. A pang of guilt hit her then. Octavia knew she was being an overprotective asshole. Someone had to look out for her child's wellness, and she sure as hell did not trust anyone in this pack (hand-picked by Warbone or not) — but then again, the dark girl before her seemed genuinely interested in helping her.

After a moment Octavia bent her head to inspect the leaves again, and this time began to nose about them with more purpose; she did not grab any or chew them though, perplexed with what to really do with them. She was no herbalist after all. Taking a slow and steady breath to relax herself, she tried to ask in a calm voice: What do I do with it? Though there was still a tinge of irritation to her tone, she did her best to sound less antagonistic.