Herbalists' Cache Just dance; gonna be okay

Reverie had been quiet for some time after that night, when she woke up screaming only to find the rain answering her cries, though her silence was more awed than solemn. She stole wide-eyed glances at @Blossom, and herself, and @Lestan; the former, she marveled at, and the latter she edged into strange conversations in hopes of getting some kind of explanation for what had happened. Because she could not bear to tell him the truth, not when he seemed so tired and strained and sorrowful.
It had not taken her very long at all to figure out that she had forgotten many things. She didn't know when she had forgotten, or if Lestan already knew, and couldn't bring herself to ask. Was that why he seemed to be grieving, why he was here with her and not at Swiftcurrent Creek? And — Kvarsheim — ! Bjarna! Their scents were nowhere upon her, only a fading remnant of Swiftcurrent Creek.
How long had it been?
After a few days she began to recall some things. Not many. She remembered her daughter's full name, remembered that she loved her deeply. Reverie had even managed to sort out her last true recollection of Lestan, before this. They had been speaking — she'd told him of Tybault, and he'd said that name, the one she had sworn she would never be called again.
She was cleaning Blossom and staring at her with that wide-eyed expression again, some mixture of shock and fear and fascination. As if she had never seen her before. In many ways, it felt as if that were the truth, though Reverie knew that could not be true. She just wished she could remember what happened.