Herbalists' Cache cen

she had known this was coming.
the moment her husband called, star eater steadied herself, rising from where their children hungrily tore at her teats. she soothed each one, pressing a gentle kiss to their tiny crowns before she stepped away. they whimpered at the loss of warmth, but she did not look back—not yet.
she stepped out into the cold. sun eater stood there, waiting, questioning, weak.
her heart twisted at the sight of him. his wounds—why had they not been tended? hadn’t ishmira…? but no, it seemed she had not. rage flickered through her like a candle’s flame, burning at the edges of her restraint. for all his faults, for all the war he had waged, she had never wished him to suffer like this.
he spoke, and she did as a good wife would. she moved to heal him.
with measured steps, she grabbed the herbs from a small pile she had gathered earlier, dropping them before him with quiet finality. no words of comfort, no softness in her gaze—only duty.
i followed the trail of my sister’s blood, she answered at last, voice steady, unwavering.
i did not breach the heart of darukaal.
her hands worked as she spoke, chewing the herbs, preparing them for the worst of his wounds. she met his gaze only briefly, searching for something—understanding, anger, regret.
i left herbs, and came back to our children.
her meaning was clear. she had not abandoned him, nor their family. whatever war he had started, she had not fought in it. but she had seen the cost.