Sunset Valley Harvesting

"yes." the answer comes without thought, without hesitation. "my mother taught me. she said a woman’s skills would be as helpful to me as a man’s would." a detail he did not know why he shared.
it had been long since he last thought of her—not because he had forgotten, but because he had learned to live without her. still, the lessons remained, woven into his bones. she had known the land well, the way the roots twisted beneath the earth, the plants that healed, the ones that killed. ulfric had listened. had learned. had carried it with him.
"you need a tracker?" he turns quizzical face to her, strides lengthening to bring himself to her side as she continues her waltz onwards. he is a skeptic; comes by it naturally.
she slows. he matches.
"tell me what you’re looking for."