Whitebark Stream Her secrets still like songs I'd never learned.

Perhaps, over time, she would learn to distance herself from her attachment to the lair; not forget it—she would never forget it—but learn to better exist beyond the safety it once provided. For the time being, however, she could at least distract herself. Exploring the lands and speaking with others—she used these tasks to keep her mind occupied, allowing room for a fondness of the stream to develop. A fondness to nurture, a fondness to grow.

When the focus was directed towards her leaves, she glanced down at them. Overall, they were fairly sad-looking but, given the season, she could find none better. She only hoped that they would still be of use, should she dry them out and store them appropriately. “Store them,” she answered, looking back at him. “The maple leaves can help you feel calm. And these”—she pointed her nose towards the birch leaves—“can help with urinary infections.” The latter was likely to be less useful than the former but, given that they were there to be taken, she couldn’t just leave them behind. “My mother always kept a supply of herbs around, just in case they may be needed,” she explained. “I intend to do the same.” And as the weather grew warmer, perhaps she may even travel further, seeking more hard-to-find plants.