Herbalists' Cache every hour has its sound

Ruenna tucked her head against the gusting wind, and when she looked back up Soltero's pelt was dusted in powdery white. Rue was delighted to see that a snowflake had landed perfectly on the tip of the man's nose, its pearly, geometric designs contrasting against the inky background. In half a moment the snowflake was melted, but for some unknown reason Rue still found it difficult to pull her gaze away from the man's sculpted visage. Rue felt the need to shiver, and not because of the wind. 

The charcoal-pelted man mentioned names, and Rue chuckled at their mistake. "We'll get the hang of this conversation thing eventually," she laughed, "...with practice." Soltero was a lovely name, perfect for the season. Rue couldn't say why, but it was a name that reminded her of long, silent nights and steadily falling snow. "I'm Ruenna," she returned, shooting him a quick smile before she turned back to her digging. 

The lavender plant was emerging slowly as she dug. When she unearthed the first sprig her gaze shot up to meet Soltero's, victory dancing in her eyes. The scent of lavender, which had previously been faint, was now bursting from the snow to wrap itself into the swirling winter winds.