Sunset Valley Harvesting

bracken woods looms ahead, the scent of damp earth and bark thick in the air. he watches aspa place something against the tree, careful, precise. there is order to her movements, even in her madness.
then, her requests.
poppies. jimsonweed. dangerous plants, both of them. one for sleep, the other for sickness. he knows their scent, and the shape of their leaves.
"i know them." now, he watches her carefully. taking two long strides to close their distance and tower questioningly above her. "and i can find them. but first: what do you need them for?" grit now, in his voice.