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

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.