Herbalists' Cache hoof trundle

star eater exhaled, slow, deliberate, the weight of their surroundings pressing into her ribs. the air here was thick with the scent of pine, earth, and crushed herbs, a whisper of something familiar, something distant.
her gaze lingered on nutuyikruk, the sharp angles of youth still clinging to her, though weathered now by a life not her own. the girl was learning. slowly, but learning all the same.
good, she murmured, dipping her head slightly, allowing the smallest gesture of approval. you are safer here.
her ear flicked, catching the faint shift of movement—other shore, retreating into the undergrowth.
she did not call out. did not need to.
other shore, her voice was quieter now, but firm, expectant. come here.
it was not a demand. not quite. but it left no room for disobedience.
her eyes flickered between them both, measuring, calculating.
we will clean the hides together. a pause. and then we will talk.
because there were things that needed to be said. things she could no longer allow to go unsaid.