Herbalists' Cache antistékomai

The plants were bitter as he reached down to touch them up. Bitter, as they grazed his tongue, bitter as they broke with the click of his teeth and slid down his throat with a tremor.

It was then he heard her voice.

He spun around before he could take the second round; his paw instinctively knocked the remaining fungi into the dirt. And at the sight of her little face - muddied, thick with snot from all her tears, ablaze with worry in a face like her mother's -

Oh Reverie, Reverie -

Foxglove,

- Oh, God -

The world sparked colour and lurched underfoot as he sought his way towards her. What was she doing here? What was he?

Too late - too late now -

What have I done?

Foxglove - you shouldn't be - shouldn't be out here.

She had seen him; He had seen -

- and he had not waited.

Fire tickled the trees.

He fell to the ground.