Heron Lake Plateau you're an ancient ruin, a symbol of hubris and decay

Her focus was on the bundles but she did answer despite the stare. No, I don't think. Could dab 'em with my tongue but then I'd be dreamwalkin' the swamp — and I gots things ta do tomorra.

Or she'd die. More likely that, and Magnolia was not ready to leave this plane of existence; there were too many frogs left to catch and crunch.

Neh, it is what it is. She nosed at the bundle and overturned it, letting the remaining herbs and flowers and things tumble and the seeds to be lost to the grass. I'll get gatherin' again later. What uh, yew call me fer?

Her gaze lingered on him now, warm and happy as if her previous hours of toil had not been a waste.