Luneshale Pass Fingers Tearing Through the Ground

For @Legend other tags for ref! <3

Backdated to before this thread. Around the 8th/9th

A message had been left with @Safiya, intended for either the Hebsut, or her father.

Hello, darling,

There has been a rather unfortunate hiccup regarding one of the essential plants required for the you-know-what involving you-know-who.

Fortunately, I happen to know of a place where it grows abundantly—Luneshale.

By the rise of the sun, I fully expect you’ll find me safely nestled in my bedfurs. However, in the unlikely event that I am not, please panic and assume the worst.

Much love,
Machiavelli

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Beneath a sky laden with twinkling stars, Machiavelli slunk through the winding foliage, pearl-pink nails click, click, clicking against the pale sandstone, each step a soft rhythm against the hum of night insects and fluttering bats. The diamond-sparkling earth shone beneath him, reflecting the moonlight in a dazzling array of shimmer.

The devil's opal eyes swept across the landscape, their pale brilliance catching and amplifying the light until they gleamed like twin beacons in the dark.

The last time he had ventured here, a chance encounter with the farm boy Rooke had brought a fleeting moment of amusement. Tonight, however, he mightn't be so lucky.

Clamped between his jaws, he carried a long, slender stick, ground at one end to a wicked point. The tip gleamed faintly in the moonlight, slick as though recently wet. The other end was wrapped tightly in layers of pelt, carefully bound to prevent his mouth from coming into direct contact with the wood.

He slithered through the great, twisting arms of the cacti, their spines glittering like needles, and wove between sprawling beds of agave, pausing now and then to take suitable cuttings. When at last he found the plant he had come for, his gaze narrowed in satisfaction. Yes, this one would suffice.

Placing the stick down within easy reach, he crouched low, inspecting the plant with a practiced eye. His deft paws worked with precision, measuring the perfect length to make his cuts for propagation. Hope stirred in his chest—perhaps this batch would thrive where the last had failed.