Lost Creek Hollow but I know that wicked shape to your smile

"marigold; smelly, yellow flowers, right?" see, she did know something. she looked down at home, hoping for the affirmative. she could picture, still, her father telling her about the flowers after she'd wrinkled her nose at their scent. her chest ached a little at that thought, but the feeling passed quickly enough. she'd made the choice to leave, be here, after all. she assumed confrey was the same root that the woman had given her in the meadow. cobwebs seemed practical enough. 

he informed her that she still needed watching, and while she'd agree to whatever he told her, trusting in his knowledge, she huffed. "I'll let you know if I start dying." though his words were reasonable, she didn't like the idea of being watched - that seemed too close the exact kind of supervision she'd escaped when she'd left home.