Wild Berry Meadow o, how my flesh summers

She had never heard of Diaspora, nor did she care to, if they were anything like the wolves that had kidnapped her. Then again. . .perhaps they were the wolves that had kidnapped her. Had the woman gotten her scars from them? Was she taken by force, too? Maegi's mouth pulled tight in a contemplative scowl before loosening again; now, the stranger was going on about berries.

They were named simply enough—well, except for the rasping-berries. Maegi didn't know why they were called that. Anti-inflammatory was a term she was unfamiliar with, but swelling, irritation, and bowel movements were all concepts she could grasp. She would have to remember these, for future use.

But they don't do anything to you? Maegi clarified, head tilted slightly. Like poppies dull your senses, and some other plants will make you hallucinate. These are just medicine, and good to eat? Of little use to her, then. . .but knowledge was power, after all. The more she knew, the better.

Before the woman could answer, however, she cut in quickly, chasing her earlier thought. Do you know a big gray wolf with purple eyes and a scarred face? she asked, frowning again. I don't know his name—but he lives in the mountains, or at least he used to.