As the last of the remaining gourds rolled down the embankment, Mel hurriedly continued down the path, still clutching the not all that great stick. Despite feeling sorely unbalanced and the witch suspected the wood to potentially be brittle, it had a heavy end and a good length. The attack of the gourds had startled her and put her somewhat on edge to continue her woodland frolic.
From there, she mostly stuck to the path. Periodically she used the stick to steady herself though did not rely on it for the most part, carrying it balanced on her shoulder. Mel wasn't afraid of the woods - she found comfort in the density of the trees, keeping an ear and eye out for strange noises or growls of her returning accompaniment of hungry squash. This felt familiar in a way, and though difficult, it did not make her feel necessarily overwhelmed. In fact, this was nicer than Sanctuary in a way. There was something alien and upsetting about the ruins they had built a life into.
She'd knelt and gathered samples along the way, familiar shapes and colors bringing to her memories of study and years of cultivation. She dreamed of walls lined with seedlings, crushing wild aromatics between her fingers as she trailed deeper, still following the path, though when likely gaps in the trees arose, she'd turn to look at them longingly in passing. The desire to divert from the track was growing,and the scent of wild mint on her fingers made her hungry for knowledge. Scent was strong trigger for memories - what if the things she had forgotten could be recovered by some flower growing just off the beaten path?
She'd stopped, something familiar on the wind. Sniffing, dog-like, the witch drifted across the breadth of the path, trying desperately to call on her missing primal passenger. Whatever she thought she had smelled, she couldn't pick it out from the scent of the woods, not easily. Putting aside her concern about the wildlife, she closed her eyes and focused intently on her sense of smell, now standing just before a small break in the trees at the very edge, her toes touching soft loam, her heels on packed earth.
What was that?
From there, she mostly stuck to the path. Periodically she used the stick to steady herself though did not rely on it for the most part, carrying it balanced on her shoulder. Mel wasn't afraid of the woods - she found comfort in the density of the trees, keeping an ear and eye out for strange noises or growls of her returning accompaniment of hungry squash. This felt familiar in a way, and though difficult, it did not make her feel necessarily overwhelmed. In fact, this was nicer than Sanctuary in a way. There was something alien and upsetting about the ruins they had built a life into.
She'd knelt and gathered samples along the way, familiar shapes and colors bringing to her memories of study and years of cultivation. She dreamed of walls lined with seedlings, crushing wild aromatics between her fingers as she trailed deeper, still following the path, though when likely gaps in the trees arose, she'd turn to look at them longingly in passing. The desire to divert from the track was growing,and the scent of wild mint on her fingers made her hungry for knowledge. Scent was strong trigger for memories - what if the things she had forgotten could be recovered by some flower growing just off the beaten path?
She'd stopped, something familiar on the wind. Sniffing, dog-like, the witch drifted across the breadth of the path, trying desperately to call on her missing primal passenger. Whatever she thought she had smelled, she couldn't pick it out from the scent of the woods, not easily. Putting aside her concern about the wildlife, she closed her eyes and focused intently on her sense of smell, now standing just before a small break in the trees at the very edge, her toes touching soft loam, her heels on packed earth.
What was that?
