Moonspear Mother, tell me

Haedwig will hole up until into next week. Others are welcome to make threads for her at the risk of a chomp

Haedwig had been right to think it would come early this year. Her aging body was out of whack, off schedule, and when she felt the twinge of change that morning, the witch headed straight back to her den. There was a time limit, and steps to complete.

First, roll in garlic. The smell would do well to cover up her season's scent and make her reek. The remainders of it would be left outside of the bear den.

Second, spread the thyme around the den. The smell was calming, and she could chew on it later.

Finally, she crawled into the old bear den and made herself comfortable. A poppy seed or two popped into her mouth, and she was ready to sit here unmoving until the looming threat of children left. The feverfew would be used later on when she began to feel worse.

Nothing was going to slip by her this year. The power of herbs and pure paranoia always came through.