Black River Reserve, mid-afternoon. Fiction is wearing a dark cloak, a crossbody bag, and a fanny pack. She's also got some of those good ol' cure bundles with her (horse), if anyone wanted to trade away from the camp.
--
She supposed many places would be beautiful and plentiful in useful flora in the middle of a pleasant spring, but still. Fiction counted the days to their inevitable departure and felt a twinge of regret as the numbers steadily fell. There were many reasons to stay in any given place, but there were many reasons to move on, too.
With a mysterious coastline to the north and a picturesque river running parallel, the area near the base of the mountain was well-nourished and wildly abundant. Dandelions, burdock, willow dock, cleavers, silverweed, thistle, nettle, plantains, and wild mint grew everywhere, and her hands and fingers were caked in dirt from a morning of digging up roots. Nightfall plodded along without complaint as the satchels tied to her were filled near to bursting. The mare seemed to enjoy these excursions almost as much as the hybrid did, munching on all manner of vegetation as they explored the coastal wood.
There were many plants that seemed to be different varieties of ones Fiction was more familiar with, and many more that she had never seen before. Those were the dangerous ones, the unknowns, but in small quantities, they could be tested safely enough -- or at least, that's what she always wrote down to do later, but she rarely had the opportunity. Capricorn and Dalibor rarely fell ill, and when they did, she always felt better giving them something that she knew would work.
Still, she gathered the flora that looked interesting, took careful notes, and hoped, perhaps, that she'd eventually meet someone else who knew what they were.
The forest ended abruptly at the edge of a rocky pasture which rolled into a sandy beach a few hundred feet away before giving way to the sea. Small clusters of tall blooms in a variety of colors were scattered curiously across the open area. The air smelled a little sweet for what should've been salty sea air. Fiction took a slow breath through her mask, but did not recognise the floral scent.
Without prompting, her horse ambled towards the nearest cluster. Grinning, the hybrid followed.
She set out with good intentions, she really did. Calan had asked other Caledonians to help gather supplies for the upcoming dye studio, which included plants and berries that could be used to produce dye, and Willow had volunteered to go look.
Unfortunately, the fisherwoman didn't know the first thing about plants -- at least, nothing that didn't relate to caring for her caribou, and what vegetation she liked to eat. Roaming around with the assumption that anything sufficiently colorful might make dye if boiled or soaked, she'd wandered through the region ripping vibrant wildflowers out of the earth and tucking them away in the bag hanging off her shoulder. Some berries made it in there, too, but most stained her fingers and mouth.
The sweet treats kept her in good spirits as her wandering grew aimless, her eyes scanning the woody bog and her feet following a riverbank. How long had it been since she'd roamed this far southeast? She must have been a kid.
She paused to grab a few bright yellow dandelions, smearing them on the dappled white fur of her wrist for amusement, then sniffed the air. A floral scent, stronger and lovelier than she'd ever encountered, tempted her from the treeline to wander down the beach. Stalks as tall as sunflowers were crowned by beautiful, colorful petals.
Willow laughed, then realized she wasn't alone -- odd, because she should have noticed the cloaked Luperci sooner. Oh, hello! she barked, her hands and tail waving their own greeting. She thought to say more, but some part of her thought words might ruin whatever was in the air, this bliss. Sighing, she relaxed her weight on one leg and stared at the flowers, idly thinking they were just what she needed.
She just couldn't bring herself to approach them, yet.
Fiction considered removing her mask to take in the scent of the mysterious flowers, but before she'd even decided to raise her hands to her face, a loud bark startled her. The hybrid flinched, but relaxed a hair when she turned to see a wolfdog smiling wide with tail wagging. It was strange for a stranger to be so friendly from the onset, but brunette seemed genuinely cheerful, and Fiction cautiously returned the smile from behind her mask; her own tail waved back and forth twice.
"Hello," she echoed, loudly enough that her voice carried the distance despite her leather mask. Fiction followed the other's gaze to the nearest cluster of flowers, which stood as tall as they and were bright purple, tinged with violet on the edges of the petals. This was an uncommon color to begin with, but she'd never seen it in on a plant so big before. Were these only native to the area? The sunflower-like stalks seemed out of place on the rocky beach.
"My name is Fiction," she said, turning back to the other woman. The hybrid suddenly noticed the dirt and leaf stains on the wolfdog's hands, and the careful smile behind her mask became more genuine. "Do you know what these flowers are called? I've never seen them before."
Euphoria made her dizzy, the flowers' scent so pleasant that she felt like her senses were bobbing along in a canoe. The reverie of her springtime lake captured her attention for several seconds, until the other canine spoke up again. With effort Willow pulled her head out of the clouds, wagging her tail again as she looked the stranger over, gaze curiously alighting on the birdlike mask.
I'm Will'a, she said, failing to enunciate as usual, then shook her head. En't seen 'em before either, she confessed, muzzle lifting to sniff of its own accord. Eyelashes fluttered as she drew in the aroma. They're beautiful. She thought they might make for bright dyes; the hue would suit New Caledonia's banners, and oh, if they could make something darker, perhaps midnight-purple robes...
Again, she shook her head. Sorry, it's so sweet, en't thinkin' straight, she said with a laugh, though perhaps this fact should have disturbed her. Don't know much about plants myself, but my pack's on the lookout fer dyes. Her eyes roamed back to the cluster of plants, finally finding the horse and its burden. D'ya trade? she asked. Perhaps the dappled hybrid had goods that Calan and the weavers could use.
The stranger seemed fairly dazed and admitted as much herself. Fiction thought recreational drug use was probably quite unwise in the middle of the woods or the adjoining beach. She considered a moment that perhaps Willow was a loner that lived in the area, but in her next breath, the copper canine mentioned a pack. The traders they'd drilled about the locals on the peninsula hadn't thought any of them were currently in conflict, but it was still surprising to Fiction that packwolves would be so carefree whilst in neutral territories.
Or was it something else? The merle hybrid followed Willow's gaze to her own black mare, who had gone right up to the purple flowers and was rubbing her whole head and neck against it, snorting softly and in obvious pleasure. Was it the effect of a live plant? That was new. Fiction watched her horse curiously for another moment, then turned back to the packwolf.
"Ah, I see," she said. "I do have many goods for trade, but the plants I've gathered are for medicinal purposes, not dyeing." Some of the flowers were bright and colorful enough that they'd probably make decent dyes, but Fiction found that she hated the idea of them being used that way. Of course she never knew if those who traded for bundles used them for their intended purpose, but knowing outright that something useful would be used for something... less useful, was unpleasant, so she decided not to mention it.
"I have some bundles of finished medicines and salves, too, if that might interest you instead," she said. "I'd recommend it, in fact, since there's a plague coming this way."
The wolfdog had half a mind to copy the horse and embrace the sweet flowers, but though sluggish in thought and distracted by daydreams, she wasn't that far gone. Alone, she might have given in to the urge and rolled around the cluster like a tabby in a catmint patch, but the patched hybrid kept her interest. Her blue eyes fixed once more on the leather mask, thinking of herons and ravens and gods.
Oh. Her tail wagged more slowly, but her smile was devoid of disappointment. Dark ears pricked with interest, stirring her wavy hair, when Fiction mentioned trading medicinal herbs instead. Certainly her pack could use them for teas or poultices; Bellad was the only healer that she knew, but if the dosages were already prepared, she supposed anyone could use them with instruction. Yeah! Reckon we could—
It was strange to talk of disaster so often. Fiction did not feel it was a duty, exactly, but she never thought not to bring it up either. Everywhere they went, every stranger they met, it was the same tale echoed through their masks. They benefited from the trade, yes, but medicines were valuable enough in civilised territories; they didn't need to share their warnings. She supposed there was some sense of good that came when they convinced someone of the danger. If her cures helped people, there was satisfaction in that.
In the grand scheme, it was good if large swaths of their kind didn't die from disease, probably. She thought that perhaps her mother would disagree, though.
"There's an illness coming," the merle hybrid said. "Maybe sooner, maybe later, but preparedness is always important, and I've the cure." Willow had blue eyes, like her. Fiction wondered what she was like away from the influence of the strange flora, if it was considerably different.
"The price isn't high. Ten pounds dried meat or a good tanned hide or a tool of good quality are all acceptable. The bundles I have all contain a cure for one person, as well as medicine for something else and various raw ingredients for your pack's healer to make use of."
Even in the comforting embrace of the flowers’ scent, the seriousness of a spreading illness was not lost on Willow. The surprise in her normally expressive face was dulled, but her ears trained on Fiction as she spoke.
Her characteristically loud voice was hushed to normal volume, too. “Where’s it comin’ from? Does it spread t’ livestock too, d’ya know?”
Another Luperci might have asked different questions, interrogated the masked trader about symptoms and prognoses. Willow might have asked more pointed questions if she was of entirely sound mind now, too. Instead, she was remembering the sickness that spread soon before her departure from Krokar when she was young. Her packmates had avoided much of it then, but the ox now belonging to her brother had fallen ill -- and New Caledonia could scarcely afford to lose its meager herd. She thought of Alasie falling ill, and Toklo, and --
She shook her head. Fiction was talking again.
“D’ya accept fish?” Willow asked. It wasn’t to everyone’s taste, though Willow’s preferred freshwater catches were milder than seafood. She toyed with her tuft of beard, knowing that she would have her work cut out for her replacing their stores of dried fish. “An’ where can I find ya later?”
[Image: kr.png] I took the time to breathe among the rootbuds and the weeds but the peat moss and the leaves took turns with both my feet
"We saw it in the south and to the west, further inland than along the coast, but it seemed to spread quickly, so it could be much closer now." The hybrid paused to think a moment. She hadn't considered livestock much and rarely paid attention to them. She had never been a part of a pack, and certainly raising their own meat and muscle was a luxury not afforded to scrappy loners. She knew some of the stricken packs they'd seen had had cattle and chickens, but she couldn't remember what had befallen them, if anything. "I don't know about livestock," she admitted finally. "But it doesn't seem to affect horses, at least."
Fiction nodded at the other's offer. "Fish is fine." She didn't like it dried as much as other meat, but it was also the case that she ate more deer in dried form than fresh while it was the opposite for fish. Big game was difficult to manage as a small trio, so most of the time, if they hunted, it was for small game like rabbits or pheasants or, if they were near a river, fish. Given that she had never been on a boat (nor did she really want to), she had no idea how to fish in the sea, but she'd heard that the fish were much, much bigger there.
"My partners and I are set up at some ruins a little west of here," she said, smiling a little. "They're a black wolf and an annoying reddish dog, and either of them would be happy to handle trading, too, if I'm not there."
Feel free to wrap up/fade out/whatever you need if it's easier <3 I'm fine with this or the next being my last post!
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South and west, but spreading quickly outward. Willow pinned her ears down, considering this. She knew little of illnesses or their vectors, but canines shirked the diseased on an instinctual level -- some less empathetic than others. But for all Willow knew, a disease could spread like a cloud, too.
Her head still felt like a cloud. She stopped teasing at her beard and rubbed her face instead, reining in thoughts that wanted to drift with each passing moment. Peering at the leather covering Fiction’s muzzle from between her fingers, she asked, “Do they wear masks, too?” She wondered if it was worship, and squinted a little as a thought -- a memory, a family member’s memory -- mumbled warnings in the back of her skull.
But that negativity did not last long either. Given a description of the traders, Willow smiled wide and nodded, her hands loosely gesturing. “I’ll have t’ pay ya a visit, then. That’s a kind thing, trading your cures away.”
[Image: kr.png] I took the time to breathe among the rootbuds and the weeds but the peat moss and the leaves took turns with both my feet
"Ah, yes, they do," Fiction said with a small laugh.
She sometimes forgot that their appearance was strange. It seemed like they had had the masks a long time, and it was just part of a normal routine now. She did not much notice the weight and drawing slow, deliberate breaths through the leather felt as natural as anything else. Of course, there was relief in the moments when she did not have to wear the protection, but those were times she had with steadfast companions, and there was comfort in private company as much as there was in cool air.
"Cures are made to help people," the hybrid said easily. "We keep enough for ourselves; there's no reason not to share the rest."
This was true enough. There remained a strange barrier that kept her from accepting that they were truly altruistic. Nothing was for free, after all. They were in a fair business, and they were of their word, but that was all. If faced with someone desperately ill with nothing to trade, they would flee. Probably.
"Hope to see you soon then, Willow," Fiction said. "Best of luck with your dyes."
She turned again to her mare, who had now lying down at the base of the flower cluster, apparently asleep. Sighing good-naturedly, Fiction went to rouse her beast.
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