seeds underfoot, roots further below

Mildew

She rings like a bell through the night
And wouldn't you love to love her?

When you were as old as Mildew, things like being polite had a tendency to fall to the wayside, as your own time and ways became more and more set in stone and normal. Also...when you'd spent so much time talking to mostly bugs and birds because all the humans were stuck in a bubble or too scared to come into your swamp...you forgot some things about conversation.

Seeing Phoebe's shoulders slump, she frowned and looked off in the direction of Mourn. "If it's for Frey, I can guide you there dear...but what could you need soil for? You'll have to be careful where you take it from. Again, the spirits...they can be awfully picky." Personally, if she was ever to die, Mildew was fine for her body to be compost or whatever else people desired, but those memorialised at Mourn were very precise about how their remains and shrines were kept.

She rules her life like a bird in flight
And who will be her lover?