Whitebark Stream meddleborn

k’edghildza crouched at the edge of the icy stream, her breath curling in soft clouds against the winter air. the caribou fur draped over her back shifted slightly as she moved, revealing the bundled cache she had carried with her—carefully hidden and kept safe during their travel.

the herbs, bundled in delicate wrappings of woven grass, were laid out before her on a patch of frostbitten moss. her sharp eyes moved over them methodically, sorting through what remained of her stock.

fingers of water lapped at the banks, their sound soothing as she counted, checking for any damage from the journey. each bundle was gently unraveled, inspected for freshness and potency before being carefully rewrapped and replaced under the fur.

she muttered to herself in broken lanzadoii, cataloging the uses for each—this one for fevers, another for infection, the smallest bundle for wounds that refused to close.

it was a moment of stillness, of work both routine and sacred, as the world of the north murmured quietly around her.