Sunset Valley Harvesting

Words as sharp as his glacial gaze. Was this warrior, so seemingly cold, wanting to play games? Aspa had chuckled, following in his footsteps. He was undeniably skilled in the art of tracking, and, in addition, he had a knowledge of plants. The warrior—or hunter, if he so wished—was no liar.

The so-called witch had then matched his pace, her eyes searching for the red flowers of the poppy or the white ones of the jimsonweed. The latter soon unveiled themselves to her.

Fremragende! she had trotted forward, placing her bark on the ground, inspecting the plants, circling them, observing with intent. Dit hjerte kan lyve om, hvem du er, Jæger, men din næse ved sandheden! she had teased him, her voice light.

Kom ikke for tæt på. De kunne gå til hovedet på dig. She had begun to dig around, seeking to uproot the toxic plants. Precision was essential; their sap was undoubtedly the most dangerous. With great care, she had lifted a few plants, using the tips of her claws to push them into her bark.

The scent alone was enough to make her feel more nauseous than usual, but she appeared accustomed to it. For the time being, she would leave her harvest here—there was no need to risk carrying it for the remainder of her quest. She would return for it just before heading home.

Whooa! she had shaken herself off. Hurtigt, til valmuerne! She had trotted away, distancing herself from the jimsonweed.

Vis vejen!