Sunset Valley Harvesting

En klog kvinde, din mor. She had nodded in agreement, reinforcing her words. Their footsteps had led them to the edge of Bracken Woods.

Jeg har brug for en sporhund, der kender planter, she confirmed, inhaling the scent of the trees before her, her claws grasping the thick bark of one, it bore the shape of a small bowl where she would place her gathering when the time was right. She set it gently on the ground.

Det ser ud til, at guderne har sat dig på min vej, She chuckled softly. Jeg har brug for visse planter... Jeg kan genkende dem ved synet, men min lugtesans... jeg kan ikke stole på den! she confessed, ironically.

Kender du duften af valmuer? Og af jimsonweed? she asked, turning toward him, her tail hanging between her legs, swaying gently from side to side. Jeg beder dig ikke om at røre ved disse planter, kun at finde dem for mig.

She added with emphasis, Rør dem ikke, under nogen omstændigheder. Jimsonweed, især.