The Bracken Woods There will come a poet,

exit freo!

fine. fréobearn wouldn’t argue against both of them, not without kendrick’s aid. i’ll go, but don’t expect much. she would give these laypeople basic courtesy, as was her duty, but nothing more. 

the group having made their decision, fréo’s passive-aggressive tantrum began. so, when do we leave? she asked, tone mocking and sharp, i want to look my best for the outsiders, and maybe i’ll bring them a gift! let’s hope the high elk doesn’t strike me down for it.

frustrated, she stomped back toward her growing herb cache, where she would begin wrapping her collection in nearby fern leaves and spider webs to make carrying them easier.