Swiftcurrent Creek In the back of my mind, I'm still overseas;

Morwenna followed Arlette’s lead with quiet grace, her steps measured as they neared the riverbank where the garden lay—a patchwork of plants and blossoms in various states of life. Arlette’s words hung in the air—a touch of wisdom, warm and light-hearted. Morwenna’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile as she listened, taking solace in the elder wolf’s positivity.

When Arlette stopped by the feverfew, Morwenna’s gaze settled on it instantly, a flicker of recognition lighting her eyes. She didn’t hesitate, leaning in to study the small, white-petaled flowers with practiced ease.

Feverfew, she murmured, the word soft but certain. I’ve used it before. Her voice held the weight of familiarity, memories of long, quiet hours spent tending to those in pain, her paws dusted with the scent of herbs. She let her gaze linger on the plant a moment longer before turning to Arlette, a glimmer of appreciation in her eyes.

This garden is beautiful. There was warmth in her tone, a silent acknowledgment of the care Arlette put into the garden and each plant she had brought here. For a brief moment, Morwenna allowed herself to feel at ease, surrounded by the earth’s quiet remedies and the gentle camaraderie shared with her guide.