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

Morwenna listened with care, her silver eyes soft as Arlette recounted the story of Eshe. The name carried weight now, tied to both the beauty of the garden and the pain of abandonment. So, Eshe had argued over pups? And just… left?

Her ears flattened slightly, a physical display of the sorrow she felt for Arlette and the pack. Losing a friend was never easy, and it was clear that Eshe’s departure had left a profound impact. That must have been hard, she said softly, her voice steady but full of empathy. For you and for Akavir. Friends are like roots—they ground us. Losing one can feel as if the earth itself shifts beneath you.

She lowered her gaze to the plant before her, shifting the conversation as if to lighten the weight of Arlette’s reflections. Pennyroyal, she repeated, the name soft on her tongue. It’s a potent herb, though it must be used carefully. It can repel insects and soothe topical ailments when prepared properly. However, she glanced at Arlette, her expression serious, it can also be harmful if mishandled—especially in large doses. It’s not one to be used lightly.

Her gaze lingered on the delicate leaves of the pennyroyal. A plant so small, yet capable of such power. Perhaps there was a lesson in that, she mused silently, before returning her attention to Arlette with a gentle nod of encouragement. This garden holds more than just plants. It’s a reflection of those who have cared for it—and those who still do.