Porcupine Ridge I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

S'that what you were out here doing before I got here? I shudder to think of what you might have planned. She snickered, crooked tail briefly swishing across the bracken. Maybe it doesn't follow you, maybe you just are the trouble.

She'd halt her pace, having found a little something to add to the collection. The plant was unassuming from first glance, a stalk of dying white flowers, unsuited to the very near threat of winter. She wasn't picking flowers this time around, though. She began to dig carefully around the base; long nails clearly kept in such a way for this particular act, she kept her movements methodical, she wouldn't be half the talented healer she liked to claim she was if she couldn't unearth a simple root without nickin' it. She displayed a sort of gentleness reserved for nothing else.

Eventually, the stubborn flora was freed from its earthly prison, she kept the stalk intact, useless for medicine, but oh so useful for making sure she didn't have to get dirt in her mouth while she carried it home. Not that I mind, y'know. It gets me excited just thinkin' of all the nice little—or not so little wounds I'll get to patch up. I like challenges, n' I'm good at my job, so don't hesitate to really take one. I'll keep ya in one piece.
She'd inch back into his space, leering up at him with a delighted craze, before turning back to the task at hand, walking a few steps forward.