Black Morass White leaves of an oleander

ione’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. envy was eager—eager to learn, eager to prove herself. the reverend mother had seen this before. she welcomed it.

we will catch a vole, she answered, her voice smooth, deliberate. her eyes swept over the frostbitten ground ahead. then, we will test.

a pause. her gaze flicked down to envy, measuring.

poisons.

there was no need for theatrics. the word alone carried its weight. it was the craft of life and death. the power to heal, the power to kill. knowledge that could make envy formidable—if she proved capable.

watch closely. the earth provides all we need. it will be up to you to listen.