Herbalists' Cache hanging on in quiet desperation

Eventually, she became aware of a follower. She humored the presence for a while, until it spoke. She turned toward the female voice, smirking briefly at their query before setting down her "nasty" skin full of the gods' blessings.

I am gathering old fruit, Aisling explained—softly, patiently. This is the best way I know how to carry them along.

Was it nasty? No more gross than carrion, which she had feasted upon in desperation, nor afterbirth, which was a natural part of life. Her lips pursed and then shifted, trying to figure out the pale woman that stood before her.

Do your folk not gather fruit for festivities? she asked.