Duskfire Glacier you want someone to be your reflection, your bitter deception

Satori had tended to her leg, wrapped skilfully a stick to splint the break with old ox hide. It was a rough fix, but it would do. To her misfortune, winter was perhaps the worse time of year for such an injury, for most common botanicals would not bloom for another moon or so.

The predicament settled the druid into a state of pain-fuelled unrest as her search continued beyond the confines of her den. Towards a frozen stream and beyond, until she found herself in a small clearing peppered with yellow petals peeking out from beneath a fresh blanket of snow. Wolfsbane, a cold-weather variety. Her nose moved to clear the flowers of ice, inspecting them thoroughly to be sure of her identification.