Hushed Willows consumed with that which it was nourish'd by

the sea-witch settles the final pile of herbs down by what she has chosen to be her store. she is aware that she must work quickly, now, to gather and sort; not only with autumn come to touch the herbs with frost and rot, but now they are in their prime. she knows the winter brings oft sickness, and given now the opportunity to settle, she will work diligently on her store. 

it is late morning, now, and she is grateful for the clarity of the heavens above. the universe will provide no natural barrier to her task today, and she offers silent thanks before withdrawing slightly to glance over what she has amassed before her, knowing well it will take time to untangle and prepare the jumbled greenery - despite her best effort, travel was not the kindest to the delicate leaves.

abruptly, young atwood has undergone a growth spurt,  his body stretched and pointed where it was soft and curved before. he observes these changes with some discomfiture, feeling rather gangly when he tries to squeeze in beside his brothers. all elbows. it does not take the edge off his anger over cortez's departure, which is still fresh and mean inside his ribs. there is no where he can direct it - he feels fiercely for his brothers, and will not wield it against them, nor his living mothers. no - this is for cortez (and for ariel, though he has not admitted that to himself yet). 

stupid uncle. shouldn't matter. 

he skulks through the willows, ignoring the delicate beauty of his environment in favor of scowling at every rock he sees. so absorbed is his scowling that he does not notice the new, strange woman until he is nearly upon her, stumbling back quickly as if shocked. "sorry!" atwood blurts, his ears sweeping back. she's new -- he's never seen her before and at this point, atwood knows pretty much everyone in the willows -- and she's doing something with some strange-smelling plants -- oh, he recognizes some of those smells, though, from mama olive's stores. his surprise is quickly overtaken by his curiousity, the trace of his bad mood momentarily lifting from his expression. "what're you doing?"

her work continues only for a few moments until she is interrupted by the abashed call of a pup. dropping the coltfoot neatly on its pile, she turns back to see the boy, easy smile on her face. "it is alright," she reassured him, not shifting from her post to meet him, for he seems taken aback enough already. it is his curiosity that ultimately prevails, however, and the witch is pleased to see his interest. 

"I'm sorting herbs, so that they might be stored for the winter." she explains, though leaves it open for the boy to offer more questions. she's noted the scents of many young in the territory, though this is the first child she's seen yet. "my name is Thelxiope. what is yours?" she asks, hoping that an introduction will put the boy more at ease. 

she shifts slightly to better face him. she can not deny the part of her that hopes he will show interest in the herbs she's gathered - she hopes to share what she knows with those here; to be a mentor as her adoptive mother was. the knowledge she's accumulated will only prove useful when used or shared, and thus far she has yet to do much of the latter. besides, she was younger than he when she started learning. still, she knows herbs do not interest many, especially young pups, most of which seem to enraptured by the wide world to see and explore to focus much on plants. she will entertain his questions gladly, but not attempt to tempt his curiosity further than it will stretch, if so be it.

the woman isn't upset by his interruption -- soothed a little, he relaxes, listening with interest as she explains what she's doing. he knows olive does something similar, though he's never tagged along or wanted to learn for himself, particularly, yet. "atwood," atwood says carefully, having finally mastered the tricky sounds of his name, the sharp t butted against woh. (he likes his name; likes that he has to try so hard to say it -- the effort makes it feel earned). 

"one of my moms uses herbs too," he says, "but, um, i don't know very much about it." he leans a little closer, inspecting the pile the best he can from a polite distance. "do you use them for anything?" atwood asks, his eyes switching to thelxiope's face curiously.

his names brings a lightness to the witch's features. "I am glad to meet you, atwood." she hums, turning her attention back to the herbs at her paws when he asks of them. one of his moms - "olive?" sunny had mentioned her at the borders, though the healer had yet to seek her out. and such, it was an educated guess; though if she were wrong, she would still be gladdened by the news of yet another healer in the pack. 

"I use them for healing; for ailments of the body and mind." she motions him a little nearer, should he wish, and fishes a strand of lavender from the pile, by far one of her favourite herbs. "this is lavender - smelling or chewing it can calm an anxious wolf, and bring sleep." 

thelxiope hazards a correct guess--surprised, atwood nods, scooting closer. "yeah..d'you know her?" he asks, leaning over the herbs as she explains how she uses them. medicine-y stuff too -- his eyes trace the lavender, committing to memory the details of its shape, the clusters of fragile, pale-purple petals. it's fragrant, too--his nose itches a little, but he finds he doesn't mind. 

"cool," atwood says, looking up at her once again. "what kinds of wolves have you healed? d'you have any stories about it?"

she smiles lightly, answering, "sunny told me of her, when I first joined." she's silent as he leans over the lavender, inspecting it closely, though she's truly glad at his interest. it is only when he glances back up at her that she shifts slightly, gaze light as he speaks. she thinks a moment before replying, wondering what kind of stories, exactly, would interest him. she's seen vast lands and varied wolves in her years of travel, though a few are more memorable than the rest. 

"I offer my help to whoever needs it," she explains, "and I have many stories. once, by the coast, I met a wolf who had been struck by lightning. she'd lived, but had lost her memories, and the power of the lightning had burned away her fur in odd patterns. I spent a long time treating her wounds, and helping her to regain her memory - though ultimately, she vanished." she'd never met a wolf like Snowe since; and in all her life she'd only seen two creatures struck. 

thelxiope does not disappoint. atwood comes alive, listening with a rapturous expression. what the herbs do is interesting, but her stories -- that, my friend, is simply where it is at. he closes his eyes and imagines this woman, how the lightning may have zagged across her, the trail of scars across her fur -- white, he decides, would look the most striking. white fur and soft pink scars, or maybe angry, ugly red (a flash of red in front of him--no).

"i didn't know y'could lose your memories," he says when his eyes open, voice soft and awed. "did she know her name, even? if she didn't remember anything, was she even the same wolf?" (little did he know, of course, of his own mother's amnesiac history!)

the boy is remarkably thoughtful, she observes. she considers his question a moment, determined to offer him the same kind of consideration. "memories, experiences, relationships, are what shape us. without them—I doubt she was the same wolf she'd been before the lightning."she shifts slightly, considering a moment longer. 

"perhaps, eventually, she might be able to regain the memories she'd lost, become who she had been before." but sometimes, change struck fast and sudden and left a stranger in place of what had once been yourself.