Dragoncrest Cliffs [m] there's no more searching for answers

Something sits at the tips of Maleah's paws.
Dried oleander, wilted and nearly crumbling; she is gentle with it as she sorts it from the rest of her herbs, for she knows the danger of such a game. The petals — or what remains of them — are a forlorn magenta, nature's warning sign not to swallow.
She gazes distantly out across the cliffside as the briny sea-air mingles with the natural scent of her fur, and she wonders just what to do with herself.