Hoshor Plains parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

It had been close to a week since she had encountered Kemal; two since she had last caught the scent of Man. Counting the sunrises changed nothing, she knew, but she forced herself to keep track anyway. Ever since she had dragged herself to her feet again, she counted. The alternative was timeless fog, forgetting where and when she was. Forgetting who she was.

She promised: she would not forget again.

Now Merel the Blackbird strode through grass that nearly stood taller than she. The long blades surrounded her in mid-spring warmth, tickling her skin where they poked through her fur. Still a vivid green, they had yet to fade to the dry yellows of summer. Her dark fur stood out in these open flatlands.

Nearly everyone else did too, at least. She spotted another figure up ahead, and called out a greeting.

Hello, she said, tail swishing. Do you live here?