never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious and just confessed to treason
What defined a precious plant? Were the wildflowers to be lost, stolen and swept away under the waters, or should they pluck each and every one of them from the Basin's fields, and return them to the boat? What of the trees? Would they remain stalwart and steadfast upon their woodland thrones, or would they be uprooted by violent tides and thundering waves? All at once there was too much to consider, too much to worry and wonder about in the chaos that had descended. The Thief hurried alongside Lena to their home, led between the winding trees and over rocky outcrops, knowing she must have something in mind in her haste, something that needed to be saved, that held precedence over green limbed saplings and old oaks (though on second thought, how would they carry those?).
Without question he followed the Mender's lead, picking out herbs between tall grass and violet blossoms, pulling them gently from the ground so as to keep their roots intact. He listened to her definitions, committing every plant to memory as best he could before seeking out anything that might be hiding amongst the tangle of roots and stones. It was methodical work, an almost calming procedure. He sought out what she required, wasting not a second, but the Mender's question gave him pause. He dropped his gatherings at her side, mind searching the vast expanse of their homeland, through hallowed caverns and over snowy mountain tops, to his beloved hot springs and the sentinels that stood guard at their gates- though they had already been hurried away. Roland himself had no possessions, nothing to his name besides a rank; nothing that could be swept beyond his reach. They had the herbs, and the Thief could think of nothing more they might require, nothing that could be lost under the torrential rains. "I don't believe so," he responded at last with a shake of his head, praying to the Gods that they weren't forgetting something.
@[Lena]
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