Fairspell Meadow Keep me running, running scared

She's kind of mad, and perhaps a little rough with the flowers as she searches for the right one, trying to recall if she's ever heard anyone describe a hedgehog before. The effort is futile, and she returns with a haphazard bundle of various torn golden flowers. She drops them when he speaks, nose wrinkling a little when one of them sticks to her tongue. What's your problem? She snaps, spitting the last flower out with a small huff. You know I don't actually have to help you, right?