Herbalists' Cache i'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in.

Astraeus hears the quailing whimper through the trees. Of a child.
It would take him more than few paces to reach them, but he had the hour to himself. A gruff snort towards the sound's direction as he strode through the brush. Coming upon a quivering boy and red-cloaked mistress — the scene is all too familiar. A snarl; he steps over to the thistledown'd little one and hisses to red riding hood.

“He will not need your help, witch.”