Bramblepoint your lips move, but i can't hear what you say

That was simple enough. Maegi allowed herself to smile at the request—this was work she could do. Work she wanted to do. If this was the girl's price, she would happily pay it. Okay, said the wraith, and she began to forge into the thicket, looking for thorns.

It was more likely that she would find them inadvertently, feel them rake against her pelt. Sure and soon enough, she sucked in her breath as pain rippled across her flank; she craned her neck to stare and saw an array of them, scattered down a dangling branch.

Carefully, gingerly, she turned and began to work the thing free, careful not to pierce her gums or tongue in the process. She wondered how the girl was coming along with the errand. She shook her head once, twice, and finally tore it loose.

Dis shoul' do, Maegi mumbled, returning to the garden with the skinny limb in her mouth. She placed it flush against the borders of the freshly-worked soil. Her nostrils flared—but no scents were immediately familiar. 

What are you growing here? she inquired, looking around for the other wolf.