Thunder Dome Thymós

She might have been keen in putting up a facade if simply slipping by, but it might have been obvious to a simple observer when the man called out to her—noticing her—and what she had decided was clearly a good deed.

She slowed her pace—a cheeky flash of her eyes roving over him before a shrug was given—as if she had all the experience in the world, and not just Meadow’s words to go by in this very moment: ‘can you collect mama some more of these lavender sprigs? I need them to help with some muscle aches and headaches’, she had shared with her only daughter.

She would have have informed the inquirer as such with the bundle in her mouth if she didn’t fear her feminine vocals being completely muffled—after all, she was a lady now, and as such, plopped the lavender at her paws, perhaps in a more unlady-like manner than intended. “Headache,” she beamed, an arched brow and hip cocked his way.