Herbalists' Cache currach

@Semira sorry this took me so long!

Back home, there had been regalement and revelry. Back home, there had been friends and the latest scuttlebutt to keep her busy. There was always something new to try, matters to be decided upon; but here, Kitsch was… bored. Yes, there was the ever-imminent threat of incursion from Teaghlaigh’s masked enemies — but so far, that had proved an unbudded and unfulfilled dream. Such excitement had not [and seemed would not] darken her doorstep within the confines of those ominous bleeding sequoias, so Kitsch sought diversion elsewhere. The girl traveled quite far, having feasted from Teaghlaigh’s coffers enough to replenish her body mass that had been squandered during the winter.  What at first  necessity required by her plight was now something that she had taken to beautifully. Her ermine, sinewy body was not built for combat but was surprisingly endurant. She moved in an easy, languid gate, sometimes sprinting along and sometimes dragging herself. The girl’s energy was back and so was her youthful need to move and amuse. Sure, Kitsch was alone — but there was a definitely sense of pleasure in her travels. 

Her feet had taken her to a place she had heard of from others — a wooded cache that harbored many of the medicinal herbs her nurses and governesses used to cure her childhood ailments. The poppy flower that West had given her was still stowed away safely in her den [and she was remiss to part with such a valuable commodity], but she did want to help out with the upcoming litters. With two women close to whelping, it would behoove her to find this treasure trove and bring back some herbs to help during the… puppy process [whatever that might entail]. This uncharacteristic willingness to help surprised even Kitsch [at first], but she eventually chalked it up to ‘it was something to do.’ So when she padded up to the outskirts of the cache, the pearl quickly began to seek out the willow or valerian or poppy that the woman West had described. She remembered her chant from that day and repeated it in her head now.  “Small, white flowers, near water. Tall, seed pod, likes fields” Kitsch sang under her sweet breath, snuffling along the mossy earth.