Herbalists' Cache Got caught, both hands on the smoking gun

Mae was silent as he shared the depths of his life with her—some of the worst parts of it, at that. She did not respond—her eyes focused on the path before her, and with that, he allowed the topic to drift. Likely—a blast of her history was hard to hear—and when she was ready, he would share more.

“Someday,” he offered, clearing his throat as they continued, his own eyes facing toward the path before them, as if the smooth grasses, dirt and rolling hills were more dangerous than the extremely rocky path of their reconnection to one another. “We should go to the ocean. Your great grandfather had once ruled a pack there. Donnelaith.”

He wouldn’t mind seeing the sea, again. It had been some time, now.