The Sentinels where the handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every night

Hemlock gave a little laugh, leaning down to tenderly groom Lotte. It was an action that was comfortable, and while she'd always found Arturo approachable it wasn't something that she'd ever actually done. She'd never groomed him or fussed over him this way, and Lotte was a different matter entirely. Hemlock felt naturally comfortable with her, and while the Banrion could be entirely territorial and distant she hadn't been so far with Hemlock. Whether this was just pity or if it was something different she wasn't particularly worried. It would be helpful to integrate Hemlock as quickly back into some semblance of her former self. "I had gathered stones for Furiosa and Palisander - a small token that we could visit whenever we felt the need to honor our fallen." But she had not taken the stones, instead, the skull, and at times it burned her up. Once they were settled she might go and gather them again, but it ultimately depended on how long it was until they felt confident again.

"Only if you promise we will go slow and that you will paint the proper picture of your Donnelaith." Hemlock counters; she will not be responsible for more discomfort from her Banrion. Going slower will be easier on them both but Hemlock masked it in the desire to see the world as Lotte had known it before. "Have you two considered names yet?" Hemlock asked curiously, wondering what their young would be called just as much as she'd once considered her own. "I had hoped for a Basil, maybe a Tansy, but we had never seriously discussed having children." Hemlock admitted.