Moonspear Find me where the wild things are

As she explained, his gaze stole away to the trees in their vicinity.

"A fungus," he murmured to himself; he had never thought of such a thing. Then again, perhaps it were best that he did not consider what all went into poultices and salves. Healers certainly had their means of making both and applying either and the gathering of such tasks had never quite been one in his routine or education. He couldn't have imagined them to taste well; gods knew they certainly did not smell all that wonderful either.

Better than a festering wound set to rot, however.

"There's not too many pockets of dying trees around here that I'm aware of," he said, picking up where she left their conversation. "You may have some luck along the northern fringes of the borders however, the trees there seem to take the brunt of whatever weather happens to come in." Though the forest seemed to go on for miles in many directions, it was the tapering into the rolling hills where those woods thinned to nil that seemed the most worn.