Bearclaw Valley spirits of the dead

Wallowing. That's what he was doing. Drinking in the herbal scents that hung like incense smoke within the belfry of a church.

The caches of supplies were beginning to thin. Tuur, Karst, whoever he was today — the boy, — caught the sight of a ginger body coasting by his hovel while he did another monotonous count of the remedy stores.

He recognizes her. Avicus; he thought their presence to be gone from this place. As if he held an iota of good fortune for himself; he chuffs a puny laugh at his own misfortune and then curtly silences.

Her focus was on the wind and the many scents that could be found upon it; for a moment the boy was frozen in place, wondering if she would find him beyond the pine, or if perhaps the spirit of Evien and his precious plants would save him from her ire.