Herbalists' Cache fifteen cans of spray paint in a chemical swirl

@Derg

If there was a place that Olive spent her second largest allotment of time, it was at the Herbalist’s Cache. It was spring, at long last, and the landscape was dotted with new growth that that threatened to bloom and ripen and swell into ingredients that she could truly make use of. The woman, round and full with child, had made the trip out here to simply take stock, and see what might grow plentiful over the next year. It much too young for her to pick and store now; not only was it too tender to store well, but it would stymie the new growth for seasons to come. 

The druid moved about her little eden, avoiding particularly sodden areas and making note in her head where these particular species liked to take roots. It was absolutely fascinating to watch plant life bounce back after the desolation of winter — it reminded her that she too could come back from anything, and that life was full of phases. Nothing more. Eventually the gravid woman tired and she decided to rest for a spell; not to sleep — no, after her meeting with Stigmata, the woman greatly tried to avoid napping in public — but to lie upon her back and feel the gentle sun on her back, then kiss and preen her belly as if her babies within could feel her cosseting.