Herbalists' Cache i who have always been unbecoming am becoming un

he wanders from his brother in search of relief. it is the sun, he thinks, and when the forest shades him he thinks it is the crushing feeling against his ribcage. it is the long journey, he tells himself, searching among the foliage with erratic movements and darting eyes. relief finds him easily; he's sure they mean for this to happen.
jaws snap around his prize, a bright flower, and reluctantly he tears away only a few precious little crumbs. his mouth is dry. the seeds stick in his throat, and he swallows rapidly, wincing with each hard contraction of his throat. finally he chokes them down, eyes watering, and settles back on his haunches. the poppy is in front of him, crushed and torn and splayed like he imagines himself. he stares at it, and he thinks that the flower is far more fortunate.